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igbylicious · 22 hours ago

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consumed: first taste (san x reader)

pairing: vampire San x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, angst, vampire au

summary: You were supposed to be nothing but a pleasing meal to sate San’s unruly appetites. He was never supposed to lose himself in you. (prequel to ‘consumed’ but no context necessary)

wc: 6.8k

general warnings: dubcon w/ vampiric persuasion, blood drinking, supernatural strength, alcohol consumption, pov switches, your blood is like catnip to vampires, San is obsessed with you 👍 (and almost kills you by accident 😬 )

smut warnings: rough sex, piv, marking, biting, pussy job, cum shot (stomach), cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex, somnophilia if you squint, nicknames for reader (darling, good girl, love)

a/n: reader uses she/her pronouns and wears a dress

a/n²: welp i told myself i’d ease back into tumblr real slow but the brain weasels demanded to post this fic as soon as it was finished oop. hope you enjoy ♡

The thing is, San has a soft spot for humans.

Wooyoung always teases him it’s because he grew up in the countryside; his parents kept chickens and goats, the farm two miles over had a herd of Hanwoo. He’s used to being surrounded by livestock; already had a soft spot for them when he still was human himself.

Maybe Wooyoung has a point. It never mattered to San that any of those animals might end up on his plate; that didn’t stop him from laughing in delight when the chickens tried to jump on his shoulders, or break out in a dimpled smile when the cows meandered over for headpats if he stopped by their field.

Now, San will admit; humans, for all their inferiority, are still more… entertaining than the livestock he grew up around. More complex. He’s still young enough to remember the fleeting depths of a mortal life, turbulent emotions packed tightly into a mere century, often less.

They have their enjoyable charms — and San can’t deny he enjoys humans the most when they enjoy him.

The other members of his coven never really understood; Hongjoong scolding San for playing too much with his food, increasing risk of exposure. Yunho winking knowingly at him, thinking they are the same because he does play with his food. Or Jongho’s bafflement, who sees feeding as little more than a practical necessity.

And Seonghwa? Seonghwa always smiles with love at his fledgling, the approving mother whose sons can do no wrong in his eyes. Humans are a curiosity to him, not quite worthy of San’s fondness but enough to permit him his eccentricities — as long as San does so responsibly.

San does. He picks his hunting grounds with care.

Nightclubs are among his favourite, the alcohol and drugs doing much of the work for him to take his fill without consequence; but if he wants something quieter, more personal, then a nice hotel bar fits his needs perfectly.

It has the same element of alcohol, while access to a private space is just an elevator ride away. And even if something does go awry, the disappearances of people on their travels is easier to cover up. (See, Hongjoong? There is no need to scold San like an eighty year old child. San knows what he’s doing.)

Besides, if someone comes to a hotel bar alone… they are always looking not to be. Who is San to deny a lonely soul the pleasure of his company, in exchange for a little sustenance?

Smooth jazz breezes through the luxurious interior of the grand hotel that San chose for tonight’s hunt.

He crosses over the elegant floor tiles to the bar with its marble countertop, the soft tinkling of glass and snatches of murmured conversation reaching his ears. If he focused, he could hear every word perfectly, from the man ordering his drinks at the bar, to the couple privately whispering on the other side of the room, to the gabble of ladies chatting in the corner.

San takes place at one of the art deco stools nearby a lonesome man, at a nice corner seat that allows him clear view of the venue.

Behind the bartender, who is fixing a gin and tonic, large gleaming windows expose the skyline of Seoul. The windows cover the full length of the room and reach all the way up to the high ceiling, allowing for a panoramic view of the city at night, alive with glittering, artificial lights that drowns out the stars — for human eyes, that is.

San can still see the faint constellation dotting the night sky, though even his supernatural vision can’t appreciate their full beauty in the bustling cities of humankind. Thankfully, these cities bring something of their own to appreciate.

He breathes in a deep whiff of air, catching notes of drinks and food, perfume and cologne, but all of those are swept away by the overpowering scent of human. His gaze wanders over the venue, eyeing the scattered people chatting or staring at their phones, then back to the other man seated at the bar.

The lonesome man looks appetising enough to meet San’s standards, even if he smells a little bland. Not unpleasant though, and just as San considers whether the sweet eye-candy weighs up against a so-so meal, his attention is noticed.

The man gives San a slow smile and, well… he has had far worse fare in the past.

Like his scent, the lonely man is a little bland in conversation, but San tries to find it in himself to look past the boredom. He’s hungry enough for it, anyway. His body craves sustenance, impatient for fresh blood. He’s not used to the way he’s been rationing, not wanting to get scolded by Hongjoong again. (That’s how their coven operates; Hongjoong keeps his brothers in line, so Seonghwa can be their forever indulgent mother in peace.)

While San bargains with himself to accept this easy meal, pretty but uninteresting, it happens.

A new presence enters the bar.

Tendrils of a luscious scent wraps around him, singing to his deepest, most primal instincts. San draws a shuddering breath, his chest glowing as his lungs fill up with the sudden rich fragrance that invades his senses. It overwhelms all else, his companion’s voice fading into a far distance.

A blurred figure moves in the reflection of the windows, and the world slows down to a crawl as San turns his head to see this alluring creature in the flesh. To see you.

You’re a vision as lovely as the sunrise, glowing with a brightness that blinds San to all but the sway of your hips as you walk past. His heart pounds at this feast for the eyes as well as his soul, wrapped up in an elegant cocktail dress, and his hunger rages at him to pounce when you glance back at him with a cheeky, inviting smile. Already his canines threaten to elongate, and San bites down a frustrated growl at his poor show of control, like he’s some teenage boy popping a boner at the mere sight of a little cleavage.

You make a point of arching your back as you sit down just a few seats away. San hears you order a whiskey, licking his lips at the thought of that smokey flavour dispersed through your fragrant blood.

San barely hears the man next to him anymore.

The boring handsome man tilts his head, perhaps sensing that he is about to lose his one-night stand. (What is his name again? Did San ever really remember it?) “So… I’ll be going up to my room …” he suggests, the implication obvious.

“Sure,” San hums, trying not to be unkind but he can barely think, starved and agitated; his world is turned upside down, like you and your blood are the ones consuming him from the inside. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Oh. I, ah, I thought… perhaps…” the man tries, dejectedly.

San tears himself away from you, giving his former target a mournful smile. “I can’t, not tonight,” he soothes, giving a light outward push of his pheromones. “But… if I happen to make it here tomorrow… and if I happen to see you…”

His ambiguous promise and coercive pheromones are enough to render the man pliant, his disappointment morphing into a hazy smile. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I’ll see you,” he says, his speech a little slurred as though drunk, and he slinks off. Leaving San free to aim all his attention at you, the delectable meal that just fell straight into his lap.

…but your attention is not aimed solely at him, San is a little miffed to discover.

You’re slowly nursing your whiskey with your phone at your ear, staring off at the city skyline while you chat away at some inconsequential nobody, undeserving of the pleasure of your voice.

Sharp jealousy stabs through San’s heart like a wooden stake. Angry hunger coils deep in his stomach, to tear apart the worthless lowlife on the other end of the line for daring to keep you from him. To throw you onto the bar and claim you right here and now, to sink his fangs in your neck and his fingers in your tight cunt as he proves that whoever you’re talking to, they could never give you what he can, drowning you in sublime ecstasy as he takes his fill.

—Fuck, wait what’s wrong with him? San tightly squeezes his eyes shut, trying to reign in his hunger. He hasn’t been this volatile since he was a Newborn, with Mother Seonghwa’s blood pumping fresh through his veins. He feels dizzy, weird, this is—

“Okay, so when you texted ‘hot guy’, how hot are we talking? Spill.”

A distant voice pierces through San’s dark discorded thoughts. His eyes snap open, meeting yours.

“Hm… the weather has been pretty balmy. Can’t remember the last time we had a summer like this,” you muse to the person on the phone. You take another slow sip of your drink, licking your lips as you put the now-empty glass back down, never breaking your studious gaze away from San.

San’s strange dizziness evaporates in the blink of an eye, all his agitation relaxing into slow amusement now he knows the true motive of your phonecall. Sweetened indulgence fills him at your little game. Cute. Thinking you can toy with him like this, oblivious to his true nature; that his augmented hearing allows him to listen in on the full conversation, not your side alone.

“Girl, then what the hell are you doing, talking to me? He can’t rizz you up while you’re on the phone!”

You giggle, “Oh, I think this nice weather will stick around for a while, I’ll have all the time in the world to check out the local sights. Besides, what good ever came out of rushing anything?”

San scoffs lightly, shaking his head in amusement. He orders another drink from the bar — and sends one your way too. You blink in surprise when the bartender brings you a new whiskey, but then pause your conversation to tip your glass in thanks.

You make a good show of pretending to be unaffected by him, but San is fully tuned into you now. All other noises have faded away, allowing him to sense even the slightest speeding of your heartbeat. He did not think it possible, but your scent sweetens even further at his attention, enriched with whole new depths of tangy aroma as your arousal stirs.

“What was that?” the voice on the phone demands. “Mr Balmy Summer is looking at you, isn’t he? Babe, hang up the damn phone or I’ll do it for you. I swear, if your bratty ass ruins a sure thing just because you wanna—”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, a silver tinkling sound that dizzies San all over again. “Too bad you have have to go… Talk to you later, alright?”

You smile at San as you put down your phone. “Thanks for the drink,” you say, a lively gleam in your eyes. “I suppose I owe you now.”

San’s hunger flares anew at the suggestive purr in your voice, urging him to take all he is owed. No one is watching. No one would notice a chaste kiss on the neck, lips lingering, a subtle hand on your mouth to stifle your moans as fangs pierce flesh. You’d like it. He knows you would.

Temptation plucks at the weakened strings of San’s self-control — but he manages to overcome it, Hongjoong’s warning for discretion yanking him back.

Besides… you had a point. What good ever came out of rushing anything? A treat like you deserves to be enjoyed at his leisure.

“Nothing owed,” he says with a grin, the one he knows makes his dimples pop. Predictably, your eyes light up at the sight of them. “I like taking care of people in need.”

“Oh? I didn’t realise I was in need,” you smile slowly, tilting your head to rest in the palm of your hand, elbow on the marble countertop. Your neck is on full display, leaving San with no choice but to contemplate the delight of your exposed jugular.

San licks his lips, trying to remember why he didn’t want to rush. “Yeah, I think you are,” he says, his voice deep and smooth. “Of a little attention, maybe.”

“‘Maybe’? So you’re not sure then?” you tease, but your heartbeat jolts, heat searing through your veins. “I didn’t take you as someone with a lack of confidence.”

San takes his drink and stands up, unhurried as he walks over and sits down right next to you. His knee now brushes against yours. He wonders if you realise you’ve leaned in closer.

“Confidence is not an issue,” San hums, darkened eyes tracing the motion of you raising your glass to your lips. “I just like to get to know people a little more before making too many assumptions.” “I’d like to know you more,” he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t need to.

“You don’t make too many assumptions?” you ask, coyly brushing your foot against San’s leg. Your heart pounds. “Then what do you assume?”

San’s intense gaze is heated as he looks you over, his nod slow but decisive as he comes to his conclusion. “That you deserve someone who’ll take good care of you tonight.”

“Hm,” you hum, lazily circling your fingertip over the rim of your emptied glass. “That’s a fair assumption.”

San’s smile widens with a flash of teeth. He recognises an invitation when he hears one. “I could take care of you. Could treat you real good. Give you everything you deserve.”

There’s the tiniest hitch in your breath when his hand rests on your knee.

Your head spins from just a light touch. Fuck, this guy wasn’t kidding about his confidence. His dark eyes have you pinned, his overwhelming aura threatening to swallow you up whole. “Everything…” You savour the way the word tastes on your tongue. “Bold. You think you have what it takes?”

Your handsome stranger doesn’t answer, gently rubbing his hand over your leg instead while the other clasps your chin. Your breath hitches a little sharper as he leans in for a kiss, slow but assured you will accept him.

Anticipation buzzes under your skin, all else fading from existence as his lips slot over yours perfectly; warm and soft, pressing into you with a firm, languid intensity that has you melting into him. You taste the liquor on his breath, inhale the dizzying scent of his cologne, smokey vanilla along with something you can’t quite identify, alluring and irresistible, a strange fuzziness coating your mind. More drunk on him than you could ever be on the alcohol. The kiss is far too brief but he lingers close, gently nudging his nose against yours.

“What do you think?” he murmurs, a light rasp in his voice that sparks through you, igniting a pulse of heat between your thighs. “Want to give me a try?”

You shudder, struggling to keep up your facade of nonchalance. You had your fun leading this stranger on a playful chase, but he is right behind you now, breathing down your neck, his claws catching on your heels. You’re struck by the distinct feeling that he’s been the one playing with you all along; merely entertaining your need for a chase, a sleek panther who knows he’s leading his prey into an inescapable trap. He could have gone for the kill at any time.

To think, you hadn’t even meant to pick up a one night stand. You were just looking for a fun flirtation to chase off the boredom, maybe pick up a few drinks free of charge. Get a little confidence boost before your work conference kicks off tomorrow.

A stolen kiss at most, you’d told yourself — but your handsome, perfect stranger has stolen his kiss, and you’re aching for more of his thievery.

“…I’m willing to give you a chance to prove it,” you say, a poor final attempt at pretending to be in control.

He knows it too, a cocky curve to his smile that has no right to be so attractive. Dammit, you don’t even know this guy’s name. And so you ask, shivering as he murmurs “San. Call me San,” in your ear. His eyes burn hotly when you give your own name in turn.

“So, San… do you want to get out of here?”

His grin widens, and you can’t help but feel like a mouse who has pried open the cat’s maw, crawling between rows of sharpened teeth of their own free will. Offering yourself up to be devoured whole.

San does not hesitate for even a second.

Your mouth is claimed in another kiss, rougher than before, and that fuzzy feeling returns as his odd cologne washes over you again, flooding your brain. Like a fog rolling over your consciousness, the world disappears in a blur. All you know is your mysterious stranger, San. San. You cling tightly onto his wide shoulders, deepening the kiss with a needy moan.

The wet heat of his lips is scorching, and you whimper when he breaks away, his giggle dizzying. “Fuck, maybe I overdid it a little,” he laughs huskily, his words as confusing as his insistence to pry your lips off the freckled expanse of his neck. “Sorry about that, darling. Come, let’s find some privacy first.”

“San…” you whine, and he groans at the sound.

His name sounds perfect from your pretty lips, the crotch of his pants uncomfortably tight already. You’re so beautifully responsive, grasping at him with needy fingers after barely a nudge of his pheromones; like this chance meeting was meant to be, you were meant to be found by him. Fuck, you smell so good. You didn’t need the extra push to be compelled, he knows that — but San just couldn’t help himself, couldn’t afford any risk to have you slip through his grasp. He has to taste you.

Still, he eases back on his preternatural influence. Already he notes the bartender’s raised eyebrow; there is no need to draw more attention as he guides you to the hotel’s wide hall and into the elevator.

You stumble only once on the way there, and again when San crowds you into the cabin before the door even fully opens. You fall into him with a broken moan and shakily press the button for your floor. He shudders at how your skin burns up under his touch, radiating heady arousal in deep waves, just for him, all for him.

He roughly turns you around, your hands pressed against the mirrored elevator wall as his arms lock around your waist. He burrows his face in the crook of your neck with a growl, taking a deep inhale of your pure scent, no longer blemished by food and drinks and other, inferior humans.

You’re something special, that much is undeniable by now. More than just a quick meal — though that won’t stop San from taking his fill. No, it’d be a crime against his morals not to feed from you, like leaving an exquisite culinary dinner untouched to be wasted and thrown out in the garbage.

He laps at your pulse point, whining impatiently as he grinds against your backside. Soon. Soon he will familiarise himself with every fragrant note of your blood, a sure feast for his discerning palate.

"W-wait,” you suddenly whimper, pushing at his hands. “Stop, I—”

Your eyes lock with his in the mirror, but San already knows what’s wrong. Bitter tints of confusion and doubt taint your sweet aroma; his feathery touch of pheromones has worn off, leaving your emotional state vulnerable to crash down. A budding anxiety is etched into your face as the ecstasy starts to fall away, trying to comprehend what is happening to you — but you do understand one crucial thing;

A predator has his lips pressed right against your jugular.

“I— I think I left my phone downstairs,” you stammer, uselessly squirming against your hunter’s grip. “I have to go back.”

San growls into your neck, yanking you closer. He’s transfixed on your face in the mirror, how you whine at the sudden firm pressure of his fingers on your clothed slit, bunching up your dress. How you shudder and relax in his hold as he flares his scent again, generously this time. Enveloping you with him until all doubt is washed away, leaving only the certainty you are right where you belong.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, rubbing circles into the growing dampness of your panties. “I’ll take real good care of you tonight. You want to be taken care of, don’t you?”

You whimper, instinctively arching into his hand. “Y-yeah.”

“Are you sure you need to go back?” San purrs, his tongue darting out to tease against your frantic pulse.

Your eyes roll back with a decadent moan when San’s fingers push past your underwear, finding slick arousal. “…I… mgh, ah ahh… N-no, need to stay, stay… San…”

He groans at the stuttered plea of his name, desperate with want. “Good, such a good girl,” he rasps, pulling his hand away from your leaking cunt. You whine in complaint and it’s not easy to deny you pleasure, but San needs something of you on his tongue before his self-control shatters apart.

He sucks off his glistening fingers with an indulgent moan; your slick is not what he truly seeks, but it’s enough to tide him over.

The elevator opens with a soft ‘ping’, and the way to your hotel room is a messy scramble, your lips unwilling to part from San’s heated skin. So deeply entangled that you almost trip over one another, until San puts his preternatural strength to its best use and hoists you up with ease. Instinctively you curl around him, burrowing your face into his shoulder as your legs lock around his narrow waist. He doesn’t even know if he and you were seen, too distracted by more important things;

Things like your gasp when San shoves you against the door the instant he’s made it inside your room. Or the way his fingers push into your soft thighs, your body pliant to his touch. You cling onto him with an eager moan as he rolls his hips into you, dragging his achingly hard cock against your soiled panties.

Your head rolls back against the door, and everything inside San sharpens at the sight of your vulnerable neck. A wild snarl lacerates across his face, his vision narrowing with jagged intent.

“S-San, please—”

Bright and searing, your desperate voice cuts through San’s blind hunger. He presses his forehead into your shoulder with a whine, sinking his teeth into his own bottom lip to drive off his frenzy for just a little longer. Not yet. He promised he’d take care of you and fuck, he will do just so. He will give you everything you want, all of him, anything to repay your unvolunteered generosity of sustaining his life.

With a few urgent, long strides, San carries you over to the hotel bed, falling into the soft sheets of Egyptian cotton together.

The breath is knocked out of your chest with a sharp moan as San descends on you, swallowing all your noises with his hungry mouth, famished for you. He forces your thighs apart with his knee, groaning in satisfaction when you spread yourself open for him willingly. San vaguely hears fabric rip as he pulls at your dress and his own clothes, but he pays it no mind, too caught up in the slide of skin against skin, the arch of your spine pressing your chests together, the wet heat that slicks up his fingers as he rubs between your lower lips. You cry out when he finds your clit with every stroke.

Fuck, the room is hot. San feels dizzy, his body like a furnace, endlessly burning with your cries to fuel him. “What do you want, darling?” he rasps between kisses. Two of his thick fingers press inside you, curling in search of the spot that twists your face into wretched pleasure. “How do you want me? Tell me, I’ll give it to you, I’ll give it all.”

San doesn’t expect you to answer, the way you’re gasping and trembling underneath him, already overwhelmed by this small taste of his boundless gratitude. No, he expects to take matters in his own hands, to seek out your pleasure points by chasing the rich arousal in your scent — but then your hand suddenly presses against his chest, and San freezes as you try to push him off.

Frustration itches at him like an ache. Why? Why would you push him away? San’s brow knits with agitated hurt, trying to understand why you’d refuse him now. Isn’t he giving you exactly what you desire, feeding into your cravings so he can sate his?

You whine when San doesn’t budge. “Please, wanna—” you strain, uselessly trying to move him, “—on top, please—”

Oh.

You grasp at San’s chest, your plea jolting through him; all irritation and distress is pushed aside at the realisation he misunderstood you for the second time tonight. San melts into a pleased, languid smile, now knowing better than to think you would ever deny him — so why would he deny you? He pulls you along as he lays on his back, leaving you to straddle him just as you want.

“Of course, of course you can, my darling,” he coos, his eager fingers creating indents in your sides as he firmly rocks you into him. “That’s it, take me,” he rasps as his flushed cock pushes at your entrance, “take whatever you fucking want. It’s all for you, anything for a sweet, perfect thing like you, f-fuck—”

His voice breaks into a low groan as you sink down on him, your plush cunt swallowing him up. You’re still so tight — but even your body seems to understand that you’re meant for him, leaking around his aching cock as your snug walls part for him, inch by delicious inch.

You bow over with a whimper when you bottom out, arms shaky as your hands lean on his chest to steady yourself. The roll of your hips starts slow, testingly, your eyes fluttering shut like you’re trying to memorise the feeling of him, every vein rubbing inside your twitching cunt.

San lets out a pained groan from the effort to allow you this moment. His fingers dig harder into the soft meat of your waist, leaving deep crescents. Hunger roils through him, growling at him to try and break the skin under his nails, lick your blood off his fingers. It’d be so easy to tear into a vulnerable human like you…

The animalistic urge claws at San’s ribcage, rattling to break free. He burns with the effort to hold it off, gritting his teeth, a hint of fangs prodding at his bottom lip.

You gasp at the force of his grip on your waist, eyes snapping open. But there is no fear as you clasp your hand over San’s, all wiped away by the hazy veil he’s drawn over your mind. No, San’s desperation only brings a dazed smile to your face, fingers squeezing around his hand encouragingly — blissfully unaware of the violent struggle behind his heated gaze.

San can’t tear his eyes away from your smile; your innocent delight at his relieved whine when the roll of your hips finally picks up.

“Oh you’re needy, aren’t you?” you tease, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip, and you giggle when he instinctively snaps at your fingers, trying to catch skin between his teeth.

You’re right, of course. San is needy. For you, more of you, more than the warmth of your sweet cunt leaking around his cock, more than your pitched breaths as pleasure builds. Your head falls back when you find an angle, shameless moans spilling past your pretty lips.

Unlike San, no inhibitions hold you back; riding him with mindless intent, sweat beading on your skin as you bounce in his lap, lost in the pleasure of him.

San aches from it, down to his core, shaken by the perfect equilibrium of your desperation matching his, needing him as much as he needs you. Your eyes squeeze shut, face contorting with pleasure like the way he fills you up goes beyond the physical, nourishing an empty aching cavity inside your soul.

And for one quiet moment… San’s violent hunger is appeased.

It’s the eye of the storm as he looks up at you in your blissful state. Time dilates and stretches to a slow crawl, all sound dampened into a dreamlike hush until he can hear only two things; your ragged breaths, echoing in his head like soft whispers, and the thumping of your heart, rapid and slow all at once.

He sits up to wrap his arms around you, unable to bear the distance between his mouth and your body.

You whine at the strength of his grip, forced into a shallow rut. “Please,” you gasp when he noses at your neck to seek out your pulse again. “Please.”

“Sweet, smells so sweet…” San groans, clutching tightly onto your wriggling body. Soft lips and sharp teeth tend to your delicate skin. Should he here…? Now…? Your heartbeat pounds faster, faster, the drum of it sending a sharp rush through him. His grip tightens, like you might slip from his grasp like a dream. Eagerly he suckles at the tang of your sweat, his canines scraping over heated flesh — until your rich scent is invaded by a sour note, and a whimper of pain cuts through his ravenous haze.

Slowly, he comes back to himself, just enough to realise you’re barely able to breathe, smothered bruisingly against his chest.

He feels his nails digging into your skin, your weak attempts to create enough space for your lungs to pull in air. It takes a long, strenuous moment before San can convince himself to relax his hold, but your eyes tear up, your breaths wheezy, and sharp lashes of guilt break you free.

“Shh, it’s okay, darling, it’s okay,” San murmurs soothingly, apologetically gathering you in his arms again; gentle this time. He encourages you to tuck your head under his chin, his hand stroking your sweaty hair. “It’ll be better now, I know just the right spot for a tasty thing like you.”

You make a faint, confused noise at his phrasing — but it turns into a startled yelp when San tosses you onto your back.

Firm hands knead your thighs, pushing your knees up against your chest as he spreads them. San groans as his cock slides through your glistening folds, sucking him in every time he rubs over your entrance. He lets out a pleased hiss when you grab at his ass, trying to pull him even closer, to split you apart on his cock.

You whine in frustration when he resists. “Please, inside, inside me, please,” you sob, begging deliriously for him; but this is your one desire he’s too selfish to fulfil.

Still, San does not leave you wanting. Your mouth falls open as he ruts against your needy cunt, whimpering as the underside of his slick cock catches your clit. San bucks harder into you; he does not intend to last. Sweat drops off his face onto your trembling body, arching up as you desperately claw at him — until all your whimpered moans are strangled in your airways, your cunt clenching around nothing as you convulse underneath him. San’s eyes roll back with a snarl at the overwhelming spike of arousal in your scent, his hips stuttering as he finds his release together with you, spilling hotly over your stomach.

He gives you no time to catch your breath; San yanks your hips up and dives down to plunge his tongue in your weeping hole. Revelling in the taste of you, purely you, unsullied by his seed. He laps at your fresh slick as your cunt flutters around his ceaseless tongue, drinking in your hitched cries.

Half-lifted off the bed, there’s nothing you can do but succumb to San’s feast — but you don’t resist even when he lowers you back down, instead freely allowing him to devour you. Your fingers tangle through his hair, desperate to keep him right where he is, but again San is forced to disregard your wishes.

He groans as he sucks a messy wet patch into the soft meat of your thigh, inhaling deeply. Here, the blood just underneath vulnerable skin sings out to him, right here.

San catches your arousal on his fingers, then smears it generously over his chosen spot. It’s time.

His thumb rubs at your clit, almost absent-mindedly while he uses his other hand to easily pin down your waist. “P-please, please,” you mewl, uselessly bucking against his hold.

“Do you want it, darling?” San rasps, his pupils completely dilated as he looks up at you, at the beautiful wreck he’s turned you into.

Your teary eyes cause a twitch in his cock, your hair a mess, lips puffy from his earlier kisses. You sob at his question, furiously nodding your head. “I do, I do.”

San hums blissfully at your consent, even if given in ignorance of what that truly means. Finally, his fangs sink into your thigh—

—and releases with a startled growl when your blood hits his tongue.

With shaking eyes, he stares at the crimson rivulet trickling down your marred thigh. He knew you’d taste sweet, he knew, but… but…

The last ragged thread of San’s self-control snaps. You cry out as his fangs plunge back into you with a feral groan, far greedier than he ever intended to be. Your scent had called San like a beacon, but nothing prepared him for the divinity pouring forth from your broken skin.

He disappears into his hunger, in the way you convulse against him with pleasure and pain. Too deep under San’s control to fully grasp what’s happening to you.

With visceral clarity, San remembers the first time he ever fed on a human being. Arteries torn apart by his fangs, fresh blood bursting in his mouth. He’d never tasted anything like it, pure vitality in liquid form — but he never thought of blood as more than food before now. Never thought of it as beautiful.

Your moans grow weaker as San takes and takes from you, though he is always sure to give too, his thumb still on your swollen clit, coaxing you towards your peak.

San has always prided himself on his self-control, feeding with discipline; knowing when he’s had enough and when to release his prey back into the world. He tries to treat you with that same discipline, he really is, but there is no taking his lips off of your skin, not when you whimper and shake underneath him, feeding him your cresting pleasure as if it is his own.

Your steady climb pulses through your blood, thrumming vibrantly, until you fall apart with one last burst of energy. He whines at your gasped cries of his name, jolting against his steel hold on your waist, your essence flooding with a rich heat that warms him from the inside, saturating his own inferior blood with your perfection.

Finally San manages to tear himself away from the fresh wound on your thigh, contenting himself with sucking your slick off his fingers instead. He groans at the mingling of tastes. His stomach is full, his body sated, and yet San still finds himself hungry.

He should stop. His tongue darts out to lap at the bite mark. He has to stop. His red-smeared lips suck at the dried blood that dribbled down earlier. Why can’t he stop—?

A stubborn grogginess clings to your consciousness, struggling against your body’s attempt to wake. There’s a nagging headache that filters through the fog, a faint pain in your chest, and a more immediate throbbing on your thigh. Your hands feel cold, but there’s a welcoming warmth pressed against your back, a solid presence spooning you. Th-the guy from last night? Memories only come back to you in pieces, strange and blurry. Dammit, why is it so hard to think?

Ragged breaths fall on your ear, joined by a soft whimper when you feel a hard pressure against your ass. Clumsy fingers grasp at your thigh, and you wince as they dig into that painful mark to lift your leg, opening you up.

A thought of alarm tries to form in your head, that something isn’t right, but the thought is snuffed out by a whiff of your handsome stranger’s cologne. You’re dizzy, too weak to question the soothing warmth that seeps through your mind and body.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” the man whimpers between nips at your neck. San, your shattered memory faintly remembers. “I don’t usually feed twice, but— but fuck, you— you’re—”

“F-feed?” you gasp, trying to understand what he’s saying. His canines are strangely sharp as they scrape over your skin. Like they’re…

The thought flees away from you as he rocks his hips, his thick cock nestled between your sensitive, fluttering walls. You moan lowly, struggling to catch your breath even at the light stimulation. Everything feels so heavy, so sluggish, you can’t move—

“I’m sorry.” San tenderly strokes your arm. “Sorry sorry sorry—” babbling pleas until he silences himself by plunging those sharp canines in your neck.

There should be pain, some distant part of you realises. It should hurt, to have him break through skin and flesh, sucking at the wound. There’s a numb ache, but it comes from far away, just like the sparks of pleasure of his cock rubbing against your sweet spot with every upstroke. You feel fuzzy and safe, like you are exactly where you belong. Something about that doesn’t make sense, but you can’t question it.

San’s moans raise goosebumps on your skin, muffled whines as he shudders and spills inside you. He stays there, but his teeth finally detach from your neck, replaced by gentle kisses.

“S-Sannie…” you sigh out as blackness drifts into your vision.

His voice is the last thing you register before consciousness fades again, softly murmuring, “So sweet… Fed me so well, my love…”

You pass out with a smile.

San snaps out of his euphoria when you go limp in his arms, his own heart racing as yours grows fainter, slowing down until he can barely sense your weak pulse. Panic grabs at his throat as your pulse continues to fade, along with your shallow breaths.

“N-no, wait,” he stutters, sitting upright and taking your feeble body with him, clutched tightly against his chest. “Don’t— no—”

Cold dread trickles down his spine, freezing his newly imbued blood. Mindless, San presses frantic kisses against the wound on your neck, like he can return all he drank from you. Too much, he took too much. He can’t hear your heart anymore over the hammering of his own, guilt rippling through him with nauseating waves. He hasn’t killed any prey in decades, and you are so so much more than mere prey. Fuck.

“Don’t go, don’t go, I’ll do better,” he chokes, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “I’ll take care of you, I promise, promise. J-just don’t go. I’ll keep you safe, please don’t go.”

San nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder with a soft whine, his eyes prickling. He fucked up. He fucked up. Tonight, the most perfect creature fell straight in his lap and he instantly lost you again to his own brutal impulses.

His arms tighten around you, willing you back to him — and some part of you must have listened, a weak moan escaping past your lips.

San’s heart soars as you blink at him with bleary eyes, unfocused and confused. You try to move, but San shakes his head, keeping you in place. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he reassures, squeezing his arms. “You’re back, you’re okay.”

He breaths heavily, but slowly calms as he hears your heartbeat again. Weak, but hanging on.

San has always prided himself on his self-control. On his ability to feed with discipline. To know when he needs to release his prey back into the world. That’s the way of things, how it has always been.

He can’t. He can’t let go of you, ever again.

You stare up at San with shaky eyes, but there is no fear in them, no anguish over your close brush with death; still safely enveloped in the comforting influence of San’s pheromones. How could he ever take that safety away from you? No, no it’s better you stay by his side. You need to stay.

“I’ll do better,” San promises, gently kissing your temple. “You’re safe, you’re safe now. I’ll take real good care of you, okay? You’re right where you belong. Always.”

#ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #san smut #ateez imagines #ateez fanfiction #ateez fic #san x reader #ateez hard thoughts #kpop smut #ateez scenarios #igby’s writing #ateez #san #ateez san #san fanfic #san scenarios #san imagines

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pencil-n-pen · 12 hours ago

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I’M STILL TRYING EVERYTHING

⋆° 𐙚 ₊🧦☕🧸₊°⋆ ೀ₊°⋆

previous | kofi | masterlist

post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

₊ ⊹

I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me.

-mirrorball, taylor swift

₊ ⊹

summary: you’ve never had a date or a relationship that either didn’t work out or end in disaster. now that you have spencer, you’re determined not to let it happen again

cw: referenced bad past relationships, very very vaguely referenced past domestic abuse that honestly could be taken a different way, referenced child abuse (readers parents are STILL not it) again this is a criminal minds fic so references to graphic violence

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort (do i even need to say this? you all know who i am) insecurity, like one line of misogyny and it’s in the past and not brought up again, spencer being soft n worried, HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, spencer is just as gone for reader as she is for him honestly he's just a sap

a/n: back by popular demand !! seriously guys, you have no idea how much the support and comments and reblogs and asks means to me 🥹 the overwhelming amount of love for the first fic made me so happy when people started asking about a sequel i knew i had to !!

read the crossword on the collage for a surprise :)

this one goes out to all my girlies who’ve ever felt like they needed to be less in order to get a boyfriend or keep one. we’ll have our soft love just the way it was meant to be

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Spencer is a really good boyfriend.

Like… a really good boyfriend. You’re not sure if this is how having a real boyfriend is or if Spencer is just like this.

He’s so good to you. He’s just so- so him. You can’t explain it. Can’t put it into words.

He’s very patient with you. You’ve never explicitly stated it, but he’s picked up on your previous relationship experience- or more accurately, your lack thereof. The morning after you’d gone home with him, night consisting of nothing but easy sleep and warmth, he’d asked you out for real. Asked you if you’d go on a date with him, and you’d agreed, a giddy smile fixed firmly on your face.

But you still worry.

All it takes it one conversation with your parents to push things over the edge.

“Yes, dad. He’s very good to me.”

A laugh crackles over the line. “I tell you, your mother and I never thought we’d see the day.”

The words twinge uncomfortably in your chest. “Hey, I’m not that bad. I’ve just been focused.”

“More like uptight.”

“Dad—“

“You know, you still haven’t come out to visit your poor old parents since getting this so-called cushy job. And now you’ve got this boyfriend. You’re too young to settle down. Don’t you think we should meet him?”

Sometimes conversations turn so quickly they leave you stranded— scrambling to pick up pieces of what you thought was going to happen and piece them together to make something new. Something for the new route the conversation has taken.

You couldn’t hold back your sigh if you tried. “We haven’t been dating for that long dad, I don’t want to spring this on him—“

“Sweetie, if we don’t meet him now, why might never meet him. Who knows how long he’s gonna stick around?”

(Sometimes, in moments like these, for just a split second, you wonder how a father could say something like that, to his daughter. You wonder why, wonder what you did wrong. And then, you imagine Hotch saying those same things, and you can’t, and it almost makes you feel a little better.)

Your blood runs cold. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“Well, you know how things have ended in the past. I’m just saying I’d like to meet him before he’s gone."

You don't dignify his words with a response.

"Come on, honey. I'm just joking with you."

"It's not funny."

"Don't be like that--"

"Goodbye."

You hang up, snapping the phone shut with a sigh.

The older you've gotten, the more conversations with your parents end up like this. You suppose it's the way you 'wasted your potential' or 'never made something of yourself.' They've always held resentment ever since you decided to become an agent. So you know not to take what they say to heart, because their words only come from a place of disappointment and displeasure. It's not a reflection of who you really are or what you've really accomplished.

Or at least, that's what Hotch told you when he'd overheard one of your phone calls. It meant more than you'd let on.

But your Dad's words linger in your head. They're irritating and sharp where they claw around in your head because they're true.

You can count on one hand the amount of romantic endeavors you've had. And from those, they all ended horribly. Your parents lost sympathy towards the end of your attempts, muttered words of needing to try harder to keep them, that you should be satisfied that somebody wanted you at all, that you should try to be less... you.

Try to be less... you, dear. The books and the facts- nobody wants those. Put some more effort into your appearance. Otherwise you'll end up all alone.

You'd tried to take their advice, of course. But the relationships that were fathered your parents direction were not loving. There was nothing soft or gentle or warm about them. You'd never felt more unlovable.

So when the incident with the shooter happened and you were lying on the lecture hall floor, blood coloring the carpet deep scarlet, you'd vowed to never let it happen again. That you were going to use your intellect and wit and passion for what you wanted to do- you'd promised yourself that if you survived, you would try to make your life your own, one step at a time.

This, of course, is easier said than done.

It's easy enough to refuse to let yourself get involved with men who are clearly only interested in your for your badge or your body --though the latter happens so rarely you really don't have to worry about it-- because you don't care about them. They're blips on your radar.

But Spencer? Sweet, sweet Spencer who makes you hot-cocoa and binge watches Doctor Who with you, even the later seasons, which you know he doesn't like as much but you love. Spencer who always has a grounding touch to offer, or a quiet command when you need him. Spencer who puts you first.

But there's a limit to these things, right? As far as you've seen, romantic relationship's are transactional, or conditional. Sometimes both. He can't just... keep doing this forever. It's too kind. Too sweet. It'll come to an end soon. Like, like the honeymoon era in early relationships. That's all it is. Plus, he's older than you, and you have no illusions about your unavoidable impulsiveness and naivety.

You've been told that your standards are too high before. "Struck by the hopeless romantic's arrow," your brother had said once, back when you were still in school, crying over a boy who'd told you that he didn't want to date you because you were too smart for a girl.

"That's not being hopeless romantic. There's no such thing as being too smart for a girl."

"There isn't," He'd amended, "But you're not going to have an easy time finding a guy. You of all people can't really afford to be picky."

He'd been right, in the end. So you're just... having a hard time figuring out how genuine Spencer's actions are. Guy's don't really act all romantic in the context of you. You've been told your whole life to be happy with what you get, and what you've had in the past is decidedly not lining up with how Spencer treats you.

It's a nasty little thing in your ear. Is it real? Does it matter as much to him?

When is it all going to end?

Rossi make's an offhand comment during a mission that you talk a lot when you're excited about the subject at hand.

JJ agrees. "It's a little unnerving when the subject is the bruising patterns of strangulation."

That little voice comes back.

Too much too much too much too much too much--

"It's useful," You protest, mouth dry.

JJ snorts, "I'm not sure about that. We need to know that the victim was strangled, not what happens to the body during blunt-force asphyxiation."

You'd grown quiet then, let the chatter and musings of the rest of the team wash over you.

Is that something Spencer finds annoying? You have always found things other's view morbid and disturbing fascinating. But JJ is right. No one wants to hear about that.

You brush the comment off, square your shoulders, get back on with the case.

Be better. Try harder.

You don't seen the furrow of Spencer's brows from where he's been watching you, or the quick look he shares with Hotch.

You'd never really thought about how clingy you can be before Emily makes an offhand comment about it while the two of you wait in line at a coffee shop. There's a couple in front of you, the girl all over her partner, kissing and giggling and hugging them close.

"Ugh," Emily groans once the two get their coffee and move on. "I could never understand the appeal of all that. I mean doesn't it feel stifling?"

A little stab of ice in your stomach.

"I don't know. I think it's nice."

"No, thank you. If I were her partner, I'd feel smothered."

You think about that conversation every time you take Spencer's hand or lean into his simple touches. They're invasive little things, the thoughts. It's not hard to pull back on all the touching. You never really ask for them in the first place- always too nervous to come off clingy. But you suppose just taking, taking, taking is just the same.

A quick shake of your head, not leaning in, a quiet "I'm fine." and that little nagging fear of smothering begins to quiet. It doesn't leave, but it does get quieter. For a little while, at least.

The hard part is trying to be less without noticeably being less. Spencer's smart- and he's a profiler. If you pull back too much too quickly, he'll notice, and you don't want to talk about this yet. You just need to make sure he'll stay. That things won't—

That you won't find out too late that you don't mean as much to him as he does to you.

That's the kind of thing that can't happen again. But ascertaining his true feelings and desires is difficult, because this is all kind's of new territory for you. You want to believe it's real. You really, really want to believe it's real.

But it's never been real before, so why would it be real now?

You've asked around (subtly and carefully, of course) about the type of girl Spencer's dated or drifted towards in the past. You know he said he wanted something soft and sweet, but you can't help but think that you're not really either, nor are you in line with his type. All things considered, you're a mess. Something tired-eyed and hollow is how you feel most days. Some sort of creature perhaps? You're honestly not sure what you are. You've spent your entire life being singled out or otherwise othered- always too smart or too different or too weird or too much or too loud or too quiet or too shy or too, too, too. Always too something. You have never been called soft or sweet. In a demeaning way, sure, but never with the quiet reverence that Spencer said it with that night.

It feels like a balancing act, a bit. Holding all those too much parts so close to your chest with one hand and shoving the ones you think Spencer wants with the other hand.

You could probably drop the one hand. The one holding the bad parts. But you're just not convinced he'll stay. You're not sure that he won't look at them with some form of disgust or pity or something else terrible.

You know the balancing act isn't sustainable— you'll fall eventually, and everything will come crashing down, but until then, you just keep trying. Trying to see if he'll stay, trying to see what to do if he won't. How to ensure he will, if that's something that's possible.

The act does not hold up for as long as you hoped it would. It comes crashing down with a glass. Literally.

You and Spencer are in the kitchen on a rare weekend off, cooking and drinking wine and swaying to some little old love song.

It should be perfect, except you're worrying that you look ugly while you're dancing, and you're probably singing off-key, and he maybe wants you to shut up so he can hear the song or dance in peace.

He reaches towards you and you just— your brain shrieks for a moment, all senses going into overdrive and you jerk backward, and your elbow knocks into your wine glass, and it falls, shattering behind you with a deafening crash.

Your entire body tenses, waiting for yelling or sighing or something, because you broke the glass, there's crystalline shards everywhere, the wine red and it looks like blood, maybe it is, maybe you're bleeding because the glass was really close to your foot when it fell but you're not sure because you can't really feel your feet or your fingers or—

"Don't move," Spencer says, voice serious, and tears well in your eyes, because this is when it all ends isn't it? "I don't want you to— honey?"

"Yes?" You croak.

His eyes are swimming with concern as he takes in your hunched shoulders, shallow breaths, and scared expression.

Understanding flickers in his features, and you resist the urge to hold your breath.

"Nothing is going to happen to you because of the glass, okay? Everything is fine. We're fine. I'm not mad. See? I'm not mad. I just don't want you to cut your feet on the glass. I'm going to clean this up and get your slippers, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe, voice hoarse. You wring your hands nervously as he leaves to retrieve the necessary supplies to clean the mess, heart beating so fast and so hard you're shocked you can't see it through your shirt.

He's not mad. He's not mad. You're not in trouble. Your parents aren't here. You're not grounded. You're not in trouble. He's not mad.

You're silent while he cleans, focused on getting your breathing under control while he babbles quietly about the history of glass making and the significance of types of wine glasses. The facts and history wash over you in steady waves, easing the tension in your shoulders bit by bit.

"I didn't think you were going to hit me, Spencer."

He continues cleaning. "It's okay if you did. I would never blame you for that."

"But I don't," You say, suddenly desperate, "I know you wouldn't, I've never been hit, not like that."

He's quiet for a few minutes. "Does this have something to do with how you've been acting recently?"

You freeze. "What do you mean?"

He looks up, leaning back on his knees. Making himself smaller, you realize. He's trying not to scare you again.

"You're dating a profiler. Also, I speak fluent you, and you've been chewing all your hangnails again. You only do that when you're stressed and pretending like you're not."

Your finger's twitch at your sides.

His hands come up slowly, and he rubs the length of your waist and hips. "We don't have to talk about it right now, but I think we should soon. I don't want you hurting all by yourself. You've had enough of that. That's what I'm here for."

He finishes cleaning up the glass, and finishes cooking dinner- he'd assured you he'd turned off all burners when the glass hit the floor, so nothing's burnt.

Once you've both eaten, he steers you towards the couch and wordlessly puts on Doctor Who.

The Pandorica is just about to open when you finally decide that if you don't start talking, you never will.

"My parents think you're going to leave me."

Spencer makes a wounded noise in his throat. "Why do they think that?"

"Because it's happened before. I'm, um. I'm not very good at getting into relationships. Or keeping them."

"But that's not your fault."

You sniff hard, rubbing your face with your sleeve. "It is though, isn't it? At least a little. I know I can be a lot. I know I'm not easy to—"

You cut yourself off, but the words hang in the air anyway; unsaid.

I'm not easy to love.

"Anyway," You say, pushing through the lump in your throat. "I just thought. I don't know. I was worried that you'd get fed up with me."

"No," He whispers, voice raw and full of something a lot heavier than fond. "No, no baby. I like that you're clingy and you ramble when you get excited, because it means that we get to talk about something together."

He shifts on the couch, sitting criss-crossed, ducking his head down to catch your gaze. "You know what else I like?"

You scoot over, mirroring his position. "What?"

"I like that you always know when I need you. Even when I don't think I do, you're there. Because I do need you. This isn't a one-way street."

His words hit you straight in your chest. "Oh."

He smiles, brows a little scrunched, brown eyes a deep pool of fondness and a splash of concern. "Yeah. And I'm thinking you need me a little more than you want to let on."

The seam of your pajama pants suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Amazing, the wonders of a sewing machine.

"Maybe."

"Mmm," He hums, "So if I need you, don't you think that you're allowed to need me?"

Your fingers pick and twirl a loose thread around. "...Yes?"

A large, firm hand covers your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. "Yes. Not only are you allowed to need me, I want you to need me. Cause you know how you're always worried about being the best girlfriend? Well, I'm always worried about being the best boyfriend."

That makes you look up. "Really?"

He chuckles again, a little puff of air fanning your face. "Yes, really. I assure you, contrary to your past experiences, this is one of those bare minimum things in a relationship."

"That does not," He continues, immediately catching the brief flicker of doubt and shame on your face, "Mean that it is your fault at all for how you were treated in the past. You wouldn't expect me to suddenly become an expert in veterinary medicine just because I've been to the vet's office a few times, right?"

"When did you go to the vet's—"

"Shh, I'm being a good boyfriend," He holds up a hand, lips quirking up when you can't suppress a tiny giggle, "But seriously. You had no frame of reference, right? And you were being told it was your fault. But it wasn't. You didn't deserve that."

He lets his words hang in the air for a little while and allows you time to process this new information.

"What do I do now?"

"Well," He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, curls tickling your forehead, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here. Just three things. You have to keep letting me need you, let yourself need me, and one last little thing."

"What?"

You're so close your breaths are mingling.

"Let me show you what this is supposed to look like. How a man is supposed to treat a pretty girl. His pretty girl."

"Oh, well," Heat rushes to your cheeks, your stomach doing flip-flops, "That sounds pretty hard. I don't know how I'll hold up."

His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb sweeping strokes under your eye.

"You say that now, but I know what happens to you when I get romantic. You swoon."

You laugh. "I do not swoon."

"You will."

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It isn't a kiss-kiss. He's kissing you just to kiss you; just to let you know that he's here, that you have him.

It's sweet and perfect and exactly what you need.

Letting yourself need Spencer is marginally easier now that you know he needs you. Now that you know you're not going all in for someone who isn't.

He also starts needing you a bit... louder.

It's late evening, and most people have gone home except you and a couple other members of the team, all still working on paperwork.

Except Spencer, who's decided to drape himself over your shoulders like a cat, his chin resting on your head.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Either finished it or it can be done later."

You shift your shoulders, smiling at how his grumbles vibrate against your back.

He moves his head, pressing his cheek to your head instead of his chin, heaving a deep sigh.

"Your hair smells good."

"Like what?"

"You're shampoo. Yours always smell better than mine."

You continue to work through your paperwork, Spencer a continuous and solid weight against your back.

"Is this even comfortable for your back at all?"

"Doesn't matter. Need girlfriend time."

He can't see it, but you're sure he knows how hard you blush.

Spencer's cooking the two of you a late breakfast in the kitchen of his apartment, hair still all mussed from sleep. He's quite the sight. You can't stop staring.

You're sitting on the counter, still dressed in your pajamas, legs swinging.

"You wanna know something cool?"

"You know it,"

"Butterflies and moths can drink blood and tears. There's nutrients in them. Purple Emperor butterflies are especially known for this. It's called mud-puddling."

"So you're telling me I should make sure I bandage any open wounds before I go to a butterfly house?"

"I guess. I can't imagine they'd be able to drink enough blood to actually cause any damage."

"Maybe we'll have to go to a butterfly house. For research."

"Should we get dinner afterwards?"

"We'll deserve it, you know, for all the hard research we'll have done."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose so."

Spencer's bed is infinitely more comfortable than your bed. You're pretty sure it's a combination of the fact that it's the only thing in the entire world that smells so much like him and the fact that he spent part of his large FBI paycheck on a fancy mattress. Back support is very important to him.

You're doing a little reading before bed, shamelessly sprawled all over him while he does his own reading. You've got a leg hooked over his hips, the other tangled with his legs, and your arms and head pillowed on his chest. You move a little every time he takes a breath, and more than once you've paused in your reading, mesmerized by the feeling.

He shifts under you, setting his book down on his night stand and making himself more comfortable.

"Should I move?"

"No," he says, voice deep and gravelly with sleep. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him, face pressed to the crook of your neck. He breathes deep, scruffy stubble scratching against your skin. "Like you close. Good for sleep."

Even with the lamp on, and your book in your hand, you fall asleep soon after him.

It's an ordinary evening for the two of you. Discarded dishes sit on the coffee table in front of the teeth, neither of you paying them any attention, wrapped up in each other and eyes glued to the T.V.

You look up at Spencer who's watching Doctor Who with the focus of a man who's never seen it, even though you know for a fact he's seen it before, several times in fact.

"I want to know the things you like," He'd said simply, the one time you'd asked why he takes your nightly Doctor Who watching so seriously.

And tonight's no different. Tonight, he looks... well, he looks like Spencer. His face illuminated by the TV screen, his hair all mussed from you running your hands through it earlier.

And it just kind of all hits you at once. You know.

"I love you."

He looks down at you, his expression soft and surprised. When your words register, his expression is so sickeningly fond and happy you can't help but lean in, burying your face in his chest. He rubs your back consolingly, then presses a little kiss to the crown of your head.

"I love you too."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

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fictionalsweethearts · 3 days ago

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A CHILD FOR ZAUN | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

Synopsis: Under pressure from the Council and with a heavy responsibility on her shoulders, Sevika decides to have a child with her wife to show her commitment with the cause. However, indirect methods are too risky and she ends up choosing the traditional way, being an equal part spectator and participant.

Contains: mention of pregnancy, threesome, male participation, voyeurism, breeding kink, wife!Sevika, dirty talking, jealousy (I could keep going).

MINORS DNI

Note: Alright, so this is some kinky ass shit, I admit, so if you're not into male participation you can enjoy my other works on my masterlist. If you're staying... enjoy.

“A child?” Sevika asked, her eyebrows knitting together at Shoola’s sudden proposition. The councilor had waited until the session had adjourned and the rest of the councilors had left to discuss this with Sevika.

The work at the council seemed endless; since the war with Noxus and all the havoc it caused—from half of Piltover in ruins, to hundreds of casualties, widowed wives an husbands, orphaned children, and protests and riots on the bridge due to Zaun’s refusal to actively collaborate with the other side of the bridge—Sevika had barely had time to make amends and command a plan of action to favor Zaun in this whole mess. She was chosen by her people to represent a city whose fate hung in the balance. There were internal disputes, the districts seemed to want to take sides in the war and attack Piltover now that it has weakened, but Sevika knew that this would cost her authority and the promise to finally include Zaun in the Council's plans and stop being marginalized from public discussion. There were sessions and sessions of disputes and long speeches, where Sevika was ignored or the problems she brought up were disregarded by the rest of the members; by everyone of course, except for Shoola and Caitlyn. Both knew the importance of including Zaun, of making its needs known, even if in the past Sevika had been the enemy, or vice versa.

"A child," Shoola insisted, professional as ever. "You're in a difficult position, you don't yet have the trust nor approval of the rest of the Council. They don't know who they're dealing with."

"How a child would make them see me differently?" Inquired Sevika, both hands on the table before her.

"You must understand that you are rare case by being on the Council and being a Zaunite," Shoola explained. "In the eyes of the others, you are still a threat. The others do not trust you to have a say in matters on this side of the bridge, because they do not know what you are putting at stake."

Sevika clenched her jaw. She was a Zaunite at Piltover's council table, a fish out of water in a world of politics and alliances.

"My loyalty lies with my city, not this side of the bridge."

"Your loyalty will bear no fruit if you are not listened to. You must prove that you are not a mere visitor, Sevika. Committing to the cause means having something to risk."

"And what do you suggest, Shoola? A Zaunite child to hold as a bargaining chip? A token that ensures our cooperation?"

"Not a token, but a proof. A proof that you're not just advocating for your own interests..." she said, her tone growing more serious. "But for those of someone you care about, and the Council can see that you do so."

"Isn't the whole city of Zaun proof enough?" She inquired.

"It's about making yourself seen, Sevika," Shoola insisted. "The rest of the Councillors have entire nations behind them; children, parents, countrymen, enemies and allies. Yet you show up here without the full backing of your people, only a small portion who are not related to you in any way other than mere conviction and ideology."

Sevika looked away, Shoola's speech seemwd to acquire more sense with every word. "Besides... a child of your own will keep you grounded, it's a reminder of why you're here and what you're fighting for." She added.

Sevika knew Shoola had a point, no matter how much she hated to admit it. She was a lone wolf in a pack of powerful families and nations, at a disadvantage before an entire lineage of renowned nobles and politicians.

"I understand the need for solidarity," she said through gritted teeth. "But a child isn't a toy to be used for political gain. I won't endanger a child just to prove a point."

Shoola's expression softened, she interlaced her fingers. "It's a necessary decision, Sevika; causes require sacrifices," she said. "There are children waiting for a change there, using one could help dozens, hundreds. You can't keep arguing with a wall."

Sevika stood there in tense silence for a long moment after Shoola left. The room felt more empty than ever. Her mind raced with the idea of being responsible for a child, of being held accountable for their well-being. With a frustrated growl, she slammed her fist down hard onto the table, the sound of her prosthetic arm hitting the wooden top echoed in the room.

"How long am I gonna fight against this?"

┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈

"Margot won't allow it." Mumbled Sevika under her breath, letting out a heavy sigh.

Sevika took another drink, stamping the glass on the desk before looking back at the map hanging on the wall. She had been in a resounding silence for twenty minutes, interrupted by her own murmurs and growls. The plan to reduce the coverage of the red light district to favor the construction of hospitals seemed more like a fantasy than a plan, taking into account the powerful influence that brothels and sexual services had in Zaun. Sevika knew that truncating that specific area would be liquidating much of the city's income; she herself, when she used to be a regular customer, could realize how essential the business was.

Suddenly, a couple of arms wrapped around her chest, the softness of your cheek against her back and your smell interrupting Sevika's thoughts.

"You're going to pierce the map if you stare at it for so long, wifey." You purred.

Unconsciously, Sevika's shoulders relaxed as she heard your voice behind her. "It's called strategizing." she said with a half smile.

"What's the deal this time?" You inquired, peeking from your wife's wide back to take a look of the map too.

Sevika's grip on the edge of the desk tightened as her gaze traveled over the map pinned to the wall. She seemed to be studying the layout, her mind working through the challenges and options.

"The Rapturewalk," she replied. "It's becoming problematic. Profits are up, but the city needs hospitals, not more entertainment venues."

"Margot won't allow it." You said, just like Sevika thought before.

She sighed loudly. "I know. But the needs of Zaun are not being met. We're prioritizing profit over basic necessities. People are suffering while Margot makes money."

You ran your hands over her shoulders, your eyes sharpening at the markings on the map before you. "Keeping Rapturewalk is your best card, actually."

"How so?"

"It's a constant and safe source of income, after Shimmer's factories." You argued, crossing your arms as you looked at the map. "Let's say that whores are the economic basis of Zaun, whether you like it or not. And the best way to generate reserves to allocate them to other projects is to take advantage of the profits of the red light district."

It was not the first time you had helped Sevika to unravel a problem of this nature. She used to pay attention to your judgment as much as the councilmen's and she trusted your vision as much as her own.

Between pouts, jokes and a kiss on her cheek, you proposed possible solutions. Sevika responded with a grunt, dragging on her cigarette before looking at the map again. "I've only been on the Council for three months… and I'm going crazy already."

"Take the mining and taxes thing as advice only," you said. "I'm just the wife, the final decision is up to you."

"Don't say that." she said firmly, walking up to you and gently grasping your arm. "You're my partner, in every sense of the word." she stated, placing a kiss on your forehead.

And the truth is that your role in Sevika's life was not limited to just being a wife. From the beginning you were a pillar for her when she didn't believe in pillars or in the need to seek support from other people, you showed her that asking for help was not a sign of weakness but of strength, although to this day it was still a bad habit of hers to swallow her problems until she vomited them out between complaints and a few days of drunkenness. That night was no exception, and as soon as you moved away from her, you noticed her staring at your abdomen longer than usual.

"Is something wrong?" you asked.

"No, nothing's wrong." she grunted, knowing she was lying.

"You sure?"

Sevika remained silent for a moment, her tone sobering. "How does children sound to you?"

You seemed speechless for a moment.

You raised your eyebrows and a flash of excitement crossed your face before you turned serious. “Sounds like something we never considered possible…”

"I know we've never discussed it. But the thought has crossed my mind a few times... I never thought it would be an option, given our circumstances. But then again, I never thought we could have a life together in a room above a poker den either."

"I, uh..." you stuttered. "It's a sort of fantasy of mine, actually." you admitted. "You always said you weren't interested in children, and I respect it."

"Well, things has changed, haven't they?" Sevika took a step closer. "We've changed."

But something wasn't fitting, and you sensed it. "Sev. Why are you suggesting this all of sudden?"

She took a deep breath, her hand dropping back to her side.

"The Council has been... making suggestions," she said. "They think it would be a... symbolic gesture. A way to bridge the gap between Zaun and Piltover."

And all clicked.

"So you want a heir, not a son." you stated.

"No, I want what's best for Zaun. And if having a child serves a greater purpose, then that's what I must do."

"A child for a purpose? A symbol." you spat, crossing your arms as the anger began blooming. "Are you trying to please those snobs? Who made you think a heir would change their vision towards you, or towards Zaun?"

"It's about making them respect us. Showing them that Zaun can play the game they set and still come out on top. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good."

"Haven't you done enough sacrifices?" you insisted. "Following Vander, then Silco's cause, then Jinx. You've sacrificed what you are every damn time and they still believe it's not enough?"

"What choice do I have?" she snapped back. "If I don't show them, if I don't do something significant, they'll continue to disregard Zaun."

"And using a child is the proper way to earn approval?"

"Babe, it's about respect!" she snapped at you, followed by a sigh when she noticed you flinched.

Silence, thick as fog, settled in the room. Sevika looked not only exhausted, but hopeless. She was making drastic decisions and she knew it. "Love… I don't expect your approval in this, just your support."

You reached out, cupping her cheek as she looked into your eyes, speaking with them. You couldn't stand against that look, you never could. "I'll think about it." you whispered. "But I want you to understand that if we have a child, I will treat him as a son first and as a political tool second."

"I understand." she nodded. "I swear I do."

As the days went by, while the Council gave no respite and neither did Zaun, Sevika planted the seed of a child in your mind frequently. She would talk to you about adoption processes when you were cooking, accompanied by a well-placed caress on your back and a kiss on your neck, and then, after making love, she would talk to you about the possibilities of testing fertilization in a laboratory. Usually you limited yourself to nodding or emitting an "mhm", still questioning the changes that a child would mean, not only as a political symbol, but as an addition to the family.

Sevika would be a good mother, no doubt. She took care of Isha for a whole month without even mentioning she cared for her, but she still came to Jinx's lair with treats and toys or gadgets that she bought at the market. She asked you to cook an extra portion for dinner and whenever you asked her why, it was because "she got hungrier lately", knowing well that it was for Isha. And when she finally admitted her affection towards the blue-haired girl, she passed away.

Sevika remained strong for Jinx and for herself, but you found her asleep in the bathtub the day she found out, her eyes swollen and stinking to whiskey.

"I loved that kid," she admitted later, once you were able to get her out of the tub. "Why is everything dying around me, babe?"

That day you promised yourself to be Sevika's anchor, and bring more joy than worries to her life.

“Baby?” you whispered after Sevika turned around. “Do you think we could visit that doctor you mentioned the other day?”

"Dr. Allard? Yeah, we can. Why?"

"We could ask for advice... about the fertilization process."

Sevika rolled over, her eyes pierced into yours. "Do you wanna... try?"

"Yes, I-" you said before Sevika swallowed your words with a kiss.

And she kissed you later that day, as you two waited for the test results. Fertilization using hextech was still in the experimental phase and was certainly based more on theories than successful cases, but you still hoped you were a suitable candidate for the procedure. Sevika held your hand as the doctor entered, her solemn face not indicating good news.

"The preliminary tests show that your body's response to the hextech fertilization process is not as strong as we would have expected. The success rates will be much lower than we had originally suggested..."

It was the formal way of announcing that achieving a baby by that means was not feasible. And Sevika read your disappointed expression while the woman continued explaining technical details that you stopped listening to. Your wife squeezed your hand and wiped the hint of a tear from your eye. "We'll find a way."

And frustration was beginning to overwhelm you and Sevika. You drank at breakfast and dinner, ruminating on the possibilities and pressuring the Zaun orphanage just to find out there wasn't a goddamn orphanage in the first place. A month of arguments, tears and breakdowns went by. The Council gave no respite, Sevika was on the verge of collapse balanced by two cities that refused to cooperate, drowning her anguish in whiskey and smoking her worries, sleeping barely a few hours and giving up her intimacy and quality time with you. You watched Sevika fall into a cycle of slavering work from which you could not get her out until you found her unconscious in the living room, passed out from exhaustion and alcohol.

And that was the last straw.

"I'll look for candidates," you said in bed, after having fed Sevika a substantial dinner and a spoonful of Shimmer. "You can choose the one you like the most."

"And if I say no?" she dared to argue.

"Then you'll quit the Council."

She was silent for a moment, too weak to argue and too tired to find another solution. She couldn't believe she would consent this.

"Fine," she said grudgingly. "You can look."

It took you no more than a week, spreading out a series of files on the living room table and asking Sevika to study each one carefully. The process took barely an hour.

"This one," she said finally, laying the sheet on the table. "It's the most suitable.

You kind of expected it, Misk. A thirty-three-year-old Zaunite in impeccable health; a rarity in a city like ours. He was an athletic man who was both handsome and noble. He was known to run a humanitarian business, providing beds, food, education, and health. A true symbol of the spark of humanity struggling to survive in the city and an indirect ally of Sevika, if she could put it that way. The file was accompanied by a photo of the man in question. He had tanned skin, pale, slanted eyes, a straight nose, and generous lips. His black hair, usually tied back in a half ponytail, was dazzling with silvery glints and vitiligo had paled half of his face, spreading across his left arm and left pectoral. You knew Sevika had chosen him for his unusual features, she had a thing for Zaun's genetic diversity.

"Did you find him handsome?" you dared to tease her.

"Qualified." grunted Sevika. "I could never call a man handsome."

┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈

"I won't repeat myself," Sevika said firmly. "We bought your silence, you keep your mouth shut. Whatever happens in this room, stays in this room."

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, an olive-colored robe as your only garment, your hair loose and your skin soft and smooth from the scented bath you took earlier. The room smelled of floral, penetrating honey, while the lights were dim and invited to retreat and intimacy.

You had prepared the room in advance for the special night; cigars lay on the coffee table in front of the wide bed with silky damask sheets. Three glasses of whiskey with ice, a jug of water, poppy oil beside the bed, aromatic herbs hung from the ceiling and a series of candles spread across the furniture and the windowsill, through which the silver bath of moonlight filtered in. You looked at Sevika, clad in a wine-colored kimono, revealing a glimpse of her bare chest and long, shapely legs. Her hair loose and her mechanical arm gleaming with Shimmer. Certainly her feminine energy was taking more prominence tonight, and you couldn't help but finding her even more beautiful.

Sitting on the couch, Misk watched Sevika intently, sipping whiskey and taking orders with the abnegation of a soldier. He had a robe on and his hair tied in a ponytail. He was more handsome in person and when Sevika first watched him walk in, she let out a chuckle. "He looks like a puppy."

"Sevika."

"He'll act like a puppy, alright."

Misk greeted you and your wife cordially, acknowledging the reasons why he was there and taking a seat on the sofa.

"This is not about your pleasure, but about the purpose. You will do as I say." continued Sevika. "You will touch my wife only when I allow it, and you will not speak unless spoken to. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"C'mere." she commanded, watching Misk stand up and come closer.

Sevika wrinkled her nose, blowing smoke into Misk's face as she studied his bearing, his face, and his scent. She parted his lips with her fingers, taking a look of his teeth and then his eyeballs, looking for any indication that would cast doubt on his medical certificate. He smelled healthy. "You're in good shape," she said, cupping the young man's jaw to look at his angles as if he was a rare animal.

Certainly for Sevika he was, she only adresses men for gambling, business or brawls. The sole thought of sharing a bed with him was uncanny still. "My wife chose well."

She ran her hand down his throat, feeling his pulse, which felt strong and steady. "Have you been in a threesome before, young man?" inquired Sevika with a dark grin.

"I have." nodded Misk.

"Good, I'm not into teaching men what they have to do." said Sevika, letting his throat go. "No funny business or I'll rip your cock off."

"Sevi." you protested from the bed.

Sevika grinned, her eyes flickering to you. "My wife seems to have a soft spot for you," she said. "Don't push your luck, then."

Misk nodded, his expression serious. "I understand."

"You're scaring him, babe." you insisted.

"He has no reason to be scared," she said shortly. "If he behaves, he'll be rewarded. If he doesn't, he'll remember it for a long time. He also signed a contract, remember? He knows what's he getting into."

Just then, Sevika seemed convinced enought to start.

“Take a seat and watch,” Sevika ordered, leaning over to stub out her cigarette in the ashtray. “You’ll join when I say so.”

You stood up, ready and eager as Sevika approached you with confident steps. She caressed your cheek. "Are you sure you're okay with him watching?" you whispered softly. "He can enter later."

"Let him stay. He can learn a thing ot two."

┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈

You squeezed your tits between your fingers, Sevika gave you a slow and methodical oral, she ate you out with all her heart and her whole face, diving between your legs and moaning against your pussy. She took all the time in the world on it, making you shudder and whimper for relief, only for your wife to straddle you on her thigh and order you to ride her as soon as you reached your first orgasm. You refused her nothing, even when Misk was on the couch watching everything and made you shy for a moment. But Sevika gave two shits about his presence, urgently kissing your mouth, whispering obscenities that only she was capable of saying and pinching your nipples between her fingers.

Misk realized that he was in front of an experienced couple, totally in tune.

"Don't look at him," she murmured. "Eyes on me, baby. I'm the one you're riding right now."

Sevika kissed you hard, filling all your senses so that you wouldn't even consider looking at a man while you were with her. She didn't take pleasure in letting a man possess you, not now or ever, but she couldn't deny that she was attracted to your pitiful moans and the way your lips would part when Misk fucked you. Sevika knew that this encounter wasn't just for a particular purpose, it was pleasurable in equal parts and she was certainly spoiling you by consenting to it.

"Admit it." whispered Sevika. "Admit that you're dying for him to fuck you. That you're dying to be the center of attention."

"No, Sev..." you whimpered.

Sevika grabbed your throat and looked into your eyes. "You're an attention seeker, even in three years of marriage that hasn't changed. And I love how desperate you are."

"Ah." that's all you could do, pant. "Ah, ah..." and your eyes softened before Sevika let your throat go and you cried your orgasm out.

You fell on top of her. Sevika cupped your neck with a tenderness she only stored for you and placed a kiss on the top of your head. "You're not allowed to be tired," she whispered to you. "Misk is still watching."

You asked for water, Misk was the one who handed you the glass and while you drank, Sevika drew circles on your back. She looked at Misk with analytical, wary eyes, knowing that the unpostponable could not be postponed.

With a kiss on the top of your head, she made you descend from her lap and wait on the bed, still a little shaken by the two previous orgasms. Misk remained in place, Sevika reached for a cigarette on the coffee table and lit it solemnly.

"Misk." she said. "Take good care of her."

You swallowed, still not believing that Sevika was giving you over to a man. A rush of adrenaline and anticipation ran through your body when Misk nodded, looking at you lying on the bed. You stood up, bare and glowing still, allowing him to come closer.

"Can I…?" he asked, clearly afraid of angering Sevika with the slightest contact on your body.

"Yes." you whispered, allowing him to wrap his hands around your waist and kiss you.

Sevika drowned her jealousy in her cigarette, watching as Misk laid you down on the bed and ventured into your skin, your breasts and your abdomen. His touch was gentle, you appreciated it since your wife had left you quite sensitive after her intervention, but you couldn't stop looking at her while he rubbed you between your legs.

You needed her close, not to be removed from the equation.

Sevika read your thoughts clearly, sitting on the couch, the tip of her cigarette glowing with each drag before she placed it on the ashtray. “Stand up,” she ordered, to which Misk seemed to back away. “I didn’t say you were leaving.”

Misk seemed to understand, allowing Sevika to position herself behind you, cupping your breasts in both hands as she began to kiss your neck. You greeted Misk with another long kiss, feeling more secure with your wife’s close supervision. Only then you moaned opnely with pleasure, parting your legs so Misk could once again rub a sensitive but so wet pussy that it left his fingers with a wet sheen.

With your wife's intervention, the evening flowed (very) well. You were already sitting on the bed, leaning against your wife's chest who was already easing a couple of fingers in you, while Misk was busy pleasing your nipples with his tongue. You moaned, looking at your wife and giving her a short kiss before looking at Misk again. The man seemed engrossed in his task, his robe sliding enought to reveal his chest and the paleness of the vitiligo. You thought he was handsome, an ideal candidate for a beautiful baby.

However, you didn't allow yourself to look at him for too long, knowing that provoking Sevika's jealousy would probably end with a dead man in the room.

"I wanna eat you out." you whined then, cupping your wife's cheek.

"Aren't you busy enough?" she teased.

"Please..."

Sevika wasn't going to deny you anything either, she loved to indulge you in everything. Not in vain she was allowing a man on her bed. Still, she hadn't pay attention to him, much less touched him; he was there as a mere tool, she insisted. Sevika tangled her fingers in your hair, her palm firm on the back of your neck as she watched you trail kisses from her chest to her pubis. She hissed, Misk kneeling behind you and kissing your spine slowly. She felt the urge to break his nose with a punch, but you kept her busy with your mouth between her legs.

“Fuck.” She growled, looking at you. “If it wasn’t for you…” she added in a whisper.

"Mhm." you moaned, venturing to ease a finger into her. And Sevika's anger was soon replaced by a stronger feeling.

You gasped, noticing the presence of his phallus, hard and wet against your entrance. Your body bristled in anticipation, believing yourself ready to receive Misk. Sevika frowned, her hand between your locks clenching tightly. Her blood boiled.

"You hurt her and I swear I'll rip your cock off," she threatened, not caring if she was ruining the mood or not. She only cared to know that her wife was willing to continue.

"It's fine." you purred, pulling back to look at Sevika. "I'm... I'm ready."

Your hands on either side of her hips, you watched Sevika the entire time. You didn’t look away from her grey eyes, not when Misk rubbed against you, not when you arched your back to allow him in. Sevika sucked in a breath between her teeth, holding your chin when your lips parted in a shaky moan.

“Fuck.” you breathed out, kissing your wife as Misk buried himself in you.

And you were embarrassed by how fucking horny you were.

You didn't know how to put your pleasure into anything but moans, words fell short. The feeling of kissing your wife, her hand around your throat while you were being fucked was delicious. Being the center of attention turned you on like nothing else, the moans, the grunts, the obscenities that reached your ears and made you smile. You soon agreed with what Sevika had said before; you love attention. The clash of skin on skin filled the room, Misk held your waist and squeezed your skin while Sevika caressed your lower lip, watching you, almost admiring you.

"Seems you're having fun." she said against your mouth. "Breaking into moans for a man, aren't you ashamed?"

"So ashamed." you whined before Misk leaned to place a kiss on your shoulder and you read Sevika's jealousy in her eyes. "But you love watching."

"I love you." she whispered, only your ears catching such strong phrase.

You lost count of how many times you gasped, or how many times Misk made you shiver with a precise thrust. Your wife watched everything, absolutely everything, scolded and admired you in equal parts, finished smoking her cigarette and gave you a tobacco-flavored kiss before forcing you upright.

"You're already all wasted, I thought I taught you better than that." she said, gripping your chin as your eyes fluttered with exhaustation. Misk had a firm hand on your shoulder, making slower but deeper thrusts. You felt him fill you again and again, causing a slight numbing sensation in your pussy.

You were reaching your limit.

Misk let out a groan, his breathing becoming irregular and noisy. "I take this is how men let you know they're about to cum?" asked Sevika with a raised eyebrow.

"Sev." you whimpered. "I'm..."

You didn't know if you were about to cum or faint, whichever came first, but it worried Sevika. You weren't used to this amount of stimulation and Misk seemed insatiably focused on his task. It was then that Sevika kissed you and left the bed. Your chest hit the mattress, Misk growled against your ear and his hips moved incessantly, to the point that you felt imprisoned by his body. You wanted to cry, it was an unknown pleasure and your body gave signs of wanting to give up.

Until you felt it, like a warm, wet torrent that made its way inside you and filled your insides. It was then that you stifled a cry into the pillow, Misk didn't seem to stop.

"I told you to take care of her, son of a bitch," Sevika said.

Misk stopped dead at the cold touch of a cannon against his temple. "You get away from her right now or I'll shoot you in the balls, you hear?"

You didn't see Misk leave the room, but you heard him. You were lying on that bed, your legs shaking, a thread of his seed seeping between your legs. Until Sevika made you close them.

"Relax, it's all over now…" your wife whispered, sitting next to you and placing a kiss on your shoulder. "I shouldn't have agreed to this in the first place."

"I'm fine…" you murmured. Exhausted and sore, you couldn't deny that you'd never felt this pleased in bed. It wasn't Misk the important addition, it was the dynamic of being watched by your wife and realizing the desire that prevailed in her gaze.

Well, desire until she seemed to kill Misk at the last minute very appealing.

"Keep them closed, sweetheart. I won't let this happen again, either you get pregnant or I set the Council on fire. You won't go through this again."

You looked up, glancing at Sevika beside you on the bed. She covered you with her kimono, tracing circles on your lower back before frowning. “Tell me the truth.”

“Mhm?”

“You fancy Misk, don’t you?”

“You already said it, Sev. It’s suitable, but I don’t like him.” you smiled despite your exhaustion, leaning over to place a hand on your wife’s knee. “I just want to give you a child, Sevika. I want to be and make you a mother.”

“You’ll look beautiful pregnant.” Sevika whispered. "So damn beautiful, round and glowing. I wonder how I got myself such gorgeous wife."

"I wonder the same..." you smiled and Sevika leaned down to give you a kiss before patting your bottom lovingly.

“I’ll run you a bath and dinner, okay? Get some rest.”

You nodded, rolling over to lean back on the soft pillows of your bed as you watched Sevika get dressed.

"Are you gonna kill him?" you asked after a moment.

"I wanted to." she admitted. "But I have too many things to attend to add murder to the list. As long as he doesn't cross my path on the street, I won't try anything."

"Okay..." you mumbled, watching Sevika leave the room. "Love you."

"Love you more."

You sighed, tired and sore, barely processing the situation that took place in that same bed you were laying on. You had never been in a threesome, and it was a good but unrepeatable experience. You stared at the ceiling for a moment, wishing with all your might that this method would work and that you could have a child for Zaun.

But above all, a child for your wife Sevika.

#arcane #arcane s2 #arcane fanfic #arcane sevika #arcane smut #sevika arcane #league of legends #sevika x reader #sevika x y/n #sevika x you #sevika #sevika my love #sevika smut #sevika the butch you are #me and my kinky ass fantasies #sorry girls

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reikoinoue · 3 days ago

Text

warnings: manipulation; caleb is a red flag but i’m color blind.

thinking about the first day you ever met your new big brother in the wake of your mother’s remarriage.

his name was caleb, and he was the only child of your new father. standing at least five inches taller than you, you were only 8 while he was 10. his magenta eyes and chipped tooth grin made your heart skip beats, making you hide your face further into your mother’s leg. still feeling so shy despite celebrating her marriage, you constantly hid behind her each time your new brother or father appeared.

your mother always found your shyness to be endearing, yet she knew that you would need to get used to your new family members eventually. this is what lead to her and your new father going out on a nice date, leaving caleb alone with you. the panicked expression on your face when you tried to convince her to take you with her fell on deaf ears, yet you were too upset to care.

you didn’t see caleb’s hurt expression, but even if you did, you were too young to make sense of it.

yet still, your mother remains achingly gentle with you, promising you that your big brother was a good kid who will always take care of you. in the end, you were left alone with your big brother who always made you nervous, watching with wide as your mom left with your new dad to go on a much needed date.

you stand frozen in the middle of the foyer, eyes going wide when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your front.

“c’mon, pipsqueak, mom and dad left us some money to order pizza. don’t ya want to order some pizza?” you look back at your brother and his crooked grin, feeling a strange heat settle across your cheeks when you manage to give him a tiny nod in response.

he playfully ruffles your hair before leading you back into the living room, ordering your favorite cheese pizza as you found yourself slowly warming up to caleb and his crooked smile.

when your parents came home later that night, they found you and caleb asleep on the couch with the television on and a half empty box of pizza. caleb’s tiny fingertips were interlocked with yours, and your parents couldn’t have been happier at how much closer the two of you had gotten in such a short amount of time.

♡ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ♡

you are 14 years old, just barely starting your first year of high school while caleb was in his junior year. you twirl your hair and frown at your reflection in the mirror, not liking the few acne spots that appear across your cheeks and forehead.

still frowning at your reflection, you move a bit closer to it, wondering if you should pop all of these annoying zits-

a sudden knock on your door breaks you out of your daydreams as you gasp, looking behind you to see your big brother step into your room. he wore a plain white shirt with a pair of basketball shorts, doing little to hide his muscular physique as you felt the familiar heat dye against your cheeks.

puberty has blessed caleb in all of the right places. he had some muscle mass, and had grown a few feet in height as well, now managing to tower over you with ease. meanwhile, you were left with the pain of monthly menstruations and skin that was prone to developing acne.

“it’s rude to come in so suddenly, caleb.” you turn your back to him, ignoring the strange fluttering in your heart as you went back to assessing yourself in the mirror.

“what’s gotten your panties in a twist, pipsqueak? and why are you glaring at your reflection?”

you sigh and rub your hands against your cheek, “with all of these pimples, no one is going to even want to kiss me.”

from your periphery, you saw the way caleb stiffens suddenly, catching sight of the way his fists clench and unclench from the mirror. “someone caught your eye at school, pipsqueak? if so, what’s his name?”

you swallow thickly and immediately shake your head. “t-there’s no one, caleb. i was just-“

“just what?” your brother suddenly takes quick strides closer to you, turning your seat around so that you could face him. anger paints his handsome features when you felt his fingertips run down the side of your face. you shiver in response to his almost reverent touch, swallowing thickly when he sweetly whispers to you, “if you wanted to be treated like an adult so badly, why didn’t you just say so?”

that was his final warning before you felt caleb descend upon you, capturing your lips in a kiss that makes you gasp. being inexperienced, you felt your teeth clashing together with his, unsure of what to do the moment you felt your big brother sliding his tongue across your bottom lip. the sensation of his saliva coating your lips makes you gasp, opening your lips without meaning to as caleb slides his tongue inside of your mouth.

your mind was screaming that this was wrong, that your brother shouldn’t kiss you like this-

yet why did such a sinful act make your heart soar?

your whimpers and the way you pound your fists against his chest was what made caleb pull away from you, his eyes going hazy when he sees the string of saliva that connects you to him. licking at his lips, caleb harshly grips at the top of your head, “no boy will ever be good enough for you. and if you tell mom and dad about our little secret, i’ll simply call you a liar. now, who do you think they’ll believe? a little girl who fills her head with silly daydreams, or their son who’s the perfect student that makes all a’s?”

you remain silent, yet the fear in your eyes was more than enough proof that you had understood your big brother.

“good girl.” he coos at you, pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead while promising to bake you a nice apple pie for your good behavior. and as he leaves your bedroom while silently closing the door behind him, you realize that your big brother had more twisted desires than you could have ever imagined.

♡ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ♡

you had just turned 19 and pretended to be the obedient daughter, cleaning up all of the dirty dishes with caleb before excusing yourself after drying the plates.

still feeling caleb’s gaze burning at the back of your head, you quickly ignore the lingering sensation as you ran back into your room, closing the door for good measure as you waited for the hours to go by.

taking out your phone, you see a text from your best friend, confirming your plans of sneaking out so that you could meet her at the party. even with having an overbearing and protective brother like caleb, you were determined to start living your own life-

without the need for caleb to taint everything.

so, you sat in bed waiting for the perfect moment, not daring to move when you heard your parent’s footsteps return back to their room. watching the time on your phone, you didn’t hear caleb’s lumbering footsteps until it was close to midnight-

and that was the moment you made your move.

stuffing a few extra pillows beneath your comforter, you made sure to make it look believable before sliding open your window, with you climbing out of it as your ballet flats hang precariously over the ledge before you let go. you prepared your body for the impact of the ground below you, only to gasp when you felt a strong pair of arms wrapping around your waist, capturing you as a harsh voice whispers within your ear, “where do you think you’re going, pipsqueak?”

“caleb!” you fight against him, but every movement was met with resistance (with your pathetic punches barely making a dent in his demeanor). with his eyebrows furrowed, your brother carries you back into your shared home, eyes filled with a determination and another expression you couldn’t quite identify.

you keep writhing against him, only to feel caleb’s large hand cover your mouth when he locks the door and carries you back to your room. he finally releases you, causing you to land unceremoniously back in bed. “what is your problem, caleb? why can’t i go out and have fun with my friends?!”

“because they’re no good for you.” caleb’s voice was even when he turns the latch on your door, securing it as he locks himself inside the bedroom with you. “i told you before… if you wanted to be treated like an adult, why didn’t you just say so?”

he faces you, gripping at your ankles as he forces you to lay back in bed. your heart begins to pound, yet you were unable to fight against him any longer.

lately, he had been busy at the academy. he had big dreams of working at the farspace fleet military, which meant that he seldom came home anymore besides the occasional weekend visit. knowing that he was due to be home this week, you set up your plans and made sure to make it seem like you were sneaking out to go to a party-

and your big brother fell for it- hook, line, and sinker.

his large hands grip at your miniskirt, tearing it off of you in one swift motion before spreading your legs. you felt him slide off your panties, allowing it to hang against your ankles while caleb tosses aside your shoes before diving into your wet heat.

you felt his tongue tracing around your pussy lips, making you cry out as your hands automatically delve themselves into his hair. his groans vibrate around your cunt as you trapped your legs around his head, practically grinding yourself against his lips. when he manages to add a finger inside of you, capturing your swollen clit within his lips, you nearly screamed in response, forcing yourself to bite down on your bottom lip to keep your parents from finding out.

seconds later, you felt the familiar snapping sensation within your abdomen, releasing yourself into caleb’s awaiting mouth as he willingly drinks up all you had to offer. letting out a grunt of your name, he presses a kiss against the side of your thighs, making you feel his clothed erection as it brushes against you.

with a haze expression, you sit up and pull caleb closer to you, hands shyly going into the confines of his shorts as you stroked at his shaft. you felt the way he shudders from your touch, but manages to grip at your wrist, stopping you from stroking him any further. “later, baby, right now, i need to feel what it’s like to be inside of you.”

his sinful admission makes you shiver in response, with caleb picking you up before setting you on your bed. he takes off the rest of his clothes, taking out a foil package from the pockets of his shorts while pushing up your shirt. with his proud erection settled between his legs, caleb tears open the condom with his teeth, sliding the ring of rubber down his shaft before settling himself between your legs.

he hides his face within the curve of your neck, holding your legs wide open for him with a free hand before guiding his cock within your entrance. when you felt something large and thick intruding inside of you, you cling to the sheets while tears dotted your vision. your brother was just too big!

he softly coos at you, whispering sweet nothings within your ear before fully sheathing himself inside of you. not liking the sight of you in pain, caleb keeps your hips still before switching positions, somehow managing to lay back in bed with you now straddling him.

“ride me whenever you’re ready to, babygirl.”

you clench your legs around his waist, letting out a soft moan when you felt some of your fluids trickling down his length. this was the first time caleb had ever done this to you, and he had filled you so completely that you swore you could see the outline of his cock settled against your abdomen. you had no idea how much time had passed, but when there was a sudden ache coupled along with the need to chase the same high your big brother had given you with his lips-

you began to sloppily bounce up and down his cock, gasping and mewling softly at the new sensation while planting your hands against his broad chest. throughout it all, caleb whispers words of encouragement to you, praising you for taking him in so well and how you were always going to be a good girl for him.

due to how you were both each other’s first times, you came within a few minutes of riding caleb, feeling an unfamiliar twitch when he releases his seed inside of the condom, sitting up to give your lips a searing kiss, “good girl, you’re always going to be my good girl, isn’t that right?”

you were given little choice but to drunkenly agree with him, leaning into the palm of his hand as you were certain you held hearts in your eyes for your big brother alone.

♡ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ♡

you are 23 and caleb is 25 now, with him purchasing an apartment in skyhaven while allowing you to live with him under the pretense of attending university-

while in all actuality, you remained locked in caleb’s bedroom, with him taking care of your every need as you were finally allowed to bask in the forbidden love you shared.

your moans and the sounds of the king-sized bed squeaking in tune to caleb’s passionate thrusts makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. his large hands were felt gripping at your bouncing breasts as he pounded his cock into you. “you’re mine, baby, all mine. you’ve been mine ever since the moment i first laid my eyes on you.”

you had no idea the amount of times caleb had made you cum, filling your womb with his seed as your mixed arousal sticks to your walls and his cock. yet even when he had taken you over and over again throughout the night, it seemed as though your big brother would always have an appetite for you-

a fact that you didn’t mind one bit.

a.n. - an unedited and unhinged, hedonistically sinful thirst post.

all stories are written by reiko; no plagiarizing, reposts, or translations are allowed.

#tw stepcest #.diary entries #caleb smut #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x y/n #lads smut #lnds smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader

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moonlightkitties · 2 days ago

Text

What's Left of Us - Joel Miller x Fem! Reader.

Summary:

Sarah’s death shattered you. Shattered Joel. Shattered everything you built together.

Once, you were inseparable—partners in love, in life, in raising your daughter. Now, you barely speak.

For years, you survive. Nothing more.

But when you and Joel are tasked with smuggling a girl across the country—a girl who’s reckless, stubborn, and far too much like Sarah—the distance between you begins to crack. The fire in Joel’s eyes that once burned for you starts to flicker back to life. And for the first time in a long time, you wonder if there's still something left to save.

Word Count: 4k+

A/N: This chapter is not proof read and has light smut.

CW: NICU mentioned/child death/angst/anxiety/panic/broken bone/gun wound/guns/violence.

Chapter One - A Life Once Ours.

"I'm going to be out late," you tell Joel, who's dozing in your shared bed a few feet away from the dresser where you were trying to find some clean pair of scrubs. You sigh and throw a pillow at his face, making him gasp and shoot up off the bed.

"What was that for?" he grumbled, rubbing his eyes from the five hours of sleep he'd gotten.

"I said I'm going to be out late," you repeated, your voice showing a hint of annoyance.

"So?" he asked, his voice exhausted.

"So," you sigh, "you're gonna have to figure out dinner. My parents sent you a gift card to that place you like. Maybe you and Sarah can go?"

Joel exhales, running a hand through his hair. "I kinda wanna spend my birthday with you too, y'know?"

You sighed, feeling incredibly guilty, "I know, but we're understaffed again, and I can't lose this job."

You walked over to your bedside table, opened the drawer and tossed a box on the bed. "What's this?" Joel asked, picking it up. It was wrapped in light blue paper, a bow resting on the top.

You blushed a little bit as he opened it, "Well... since you never got yourself a ring, I figured I'd get you one."

He unwraps it carefully, his tired eyes widening as he lifts the lid. Inside sits a simple silver wedding band. The two of you got married young, right after finding out you were pregnant with Sarah. Money had been tight—tight enough that he couldn’t afford one for himself.

Joel stares at the ring for a long moment before looking up at you. His expression softens, the exhaustion in his face replaced with something warmer, something unspoken.

"Darlin'..." Joel began, looking up at you.

"Do you...do you like it?" you ask, suddenly feeling nervous.

"No...I-I love it," he said, a smile resting on his face.

You sighed in relief and felt him grab your hand and suddenly you were pulled onto the bed, you let out a gasp of surprise and giggled as he nuzzled his head into your neck. You pulled away from him after a few moments and kissed him before getting off the bed, "I'm gonna say bye to Sarah and head out, don't forget to pack her lunch." Joel nodded and got up out of the bed as you went across the hallway into Sarah's bedroom.

You push the door open gently and step inside. Sarah is fast asleep, her small frame curled beneath the duvet, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Smiling softly, you kneel beside her and shake her awake. She groans, blinking sleepily up at you.

"What is it?" she mumbles.

"Jus' wanted to tell you I was heading to work," you whisper, pulling her into a hug.

She sighs sleepily, wrapping her arms around you, and for a long moment, neither of you move.

Finally, she pulls away, rubbing her eyes.

"Love you, bug," you murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Sarah hums in response, already drifting back to sleep as you tuck the blanket around her.

You smile softly and head out, closing her door on the way. Joel was already up getting coffee when you went to get your keys, you kissed him one last time before heading into your car and driving towards the city.

------

The drive to the city consisted of you listening to Sarah's Dawn of the Wolf soundtrack she forgot to take out and humming to the scene where the main character stays in her room for months on end after her vampire boyfriend left.

You smile thinking when you and Sarah dragged Joel out to see it, he didn't want to of course but he loved his girls so he didn't have a choice.

Pulling into the employee only parking space, you realized how crowdy and busy it looked, far busier than usual.

With a reluctant sigh, you pushed open the door and headed inside, weaving through the chaos toward the NICU. It was where you spent most of your time, caring for fragile newborns and their anxious parents.

Some days, the sight of those tiny, struggling babies brought back the memories—the fear, the helplessness of watching Sarah fight for her life in this very place.

Other days, you felt grateful. Grateful that she made it. Grateful that now, you got to help mothers who were living through the same nightmare you once did.

Your shift went by as normal, talking to your co-workers, giving babies their medication and feeding them, rocking the restless ones to sleep so their mothers could get their much needed rest. The only thing that seemed strange was that the ER and ICU were on lockdown and that your higherups looked really worried, so worried they made you leave early and locked the maternity ward down.

"Hey, Mrs. Miller!"

You turn around to see one of the interns, Stacey, rushing towards you as you stood near the exit.

"Yeah?"

"Did you hear about that patient that attacked one of the nurses in the ER?"

"No, why?" you ask.

She shrugged, "we don't know, they’re not giving us any new information, but it seemed pretty bad. Anyways, I gotta go, see ya tomorrow!" As Stacey left, you shivered a bit but shrugged it off, the ER gets psychological patients all the time.

As you stepped outside, the air felt different—thicker, colder. The usual hum of the city had shifted, replaced by a more frantic energy. You could hear the distant wail of sirens, the flashing red and blue lights reflecting off buildings as ambulances and police cars lined the streets.

It was clear: something was wrong.

You tried to ignore the knot forming in your stomach, telling yourself it was probably just some isolated incident. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Your car felt like the safest place in the world as you slid into the driver’s seat, but even then, you couldn’t help but glance around, half-expecting someone to rush past or knock on your window.

The roads were quieter now, but you could still feel the pulse of anxiety in the air. Whatever was happening, it was spreading.

It was around three in the afternoon as you pulled into the driveway, Joel still wasn't home and Sarah should have been home from school by now.

You walked into the house, your worry drifting away when you walked into the kitchen and spotted Sarah doing her homework at the table.

"Hey, baby," you said, kissing her head. She looked up at you in surprise "Daddy said you were working late," she said, glancing at the clock. You shrugged, "Yeah, but they were being nice and let me get off early," you told her, trying to make it seem like you weren't worried about something.

"You need help?" you ask, sitting beside her. She shakes her head, "Nah, I got it," she said. You chuckled and got up, "well, if you do, I'll be upstairs."

You made your way up the stairs, and into your bedroom to change out of your scrubs and into something more comfortable. You settled into your bed and pulled out your phone to check if Joel had messaged you.

0 New Messages.

You put your phone on your bedside table, he would text or call if he needed you. Pulling the covers over your exhausted and sore body, you let sleep take you.

"Mom?" you heard a voice, and opened your eyes as you felt someone shaking you. You grumbled and smacked their hand away. "Mommy!" Sarah exclaimed, you gasped and opened your eyes, looking around frantically, "what?" you asked, grasping your chest as you realized it was only her.

"I'm hungry.." she mumbled.

You sighed and got up, grabbed your phone and looked at the time. It was five in the afternoon and you've been asleep for two hours. You stretched and got up, "when your daddy comes home will get something from that place he likes, okay?" you say, patting her on the head. She grumbled, "He told me he's not gonna be home until later tonight." You furrowed your eyebrows, "Really? He didn't tell me that." Sarah shrugged, not really seeming to care whether he told you or not.

"I guess we can order pizza and save the gift card for this week," you said, going downstairs to look through the menus that Joel has kept throughout the years. "What do you want?" you ask, showing her the menus, she looked through them until she handed you the one she wanted. You dialed the number and told them what you and Sarah wanted, you would save the food you didn't eat for Joel when he came home.

"I have a cake mix in the pantry we can make before your daddy comes home," you tell her, flopping down on the couch and turning the T.V. on. You and Sarah settled on watching Dawn of the Wolf until the pizza came. You both ate until your stomachs hurt and by seven-thirty, Sarah was sleeping. You smiled and tucked her hair behind her ears and got up to make that cake, she would want to help but you knew she needed to sleep.

After you mixed all the ingredients together, you popped the cake into the oven for twenty-five minutes and went upstairs to check your phone.

You had a new text from Joel which read "Going to be out late, forgot to tell you this morning, left Sarah a note to order food, love you." You smiled and texted him back, "I got out early and we already ate, ordered pizza, making you a cake that we can eat when you get back, love you too 🥰🥰."

You also had a next text from one of your closest co-workers ten minutes ago.

"Watch the news, something weird is going on."

You turned your phone off and turned the T.V. that was in your and Joel's room, like a few hours ago, police and ambulances were everywhere. It worried you, something awful was happening. You turned off the T.V. and instead grabbed a book you were meaning to read. A few pages in, the oven sounded, indicating the cake was done so you went downstairs to take it out and leave it on the table so you could ice it when it was cooled down.

Sarah walked in a few minutes later and frowned "I wanted to help make it," she said, sitting at the table.

"I know, but you needed sleep, you can ice and decorate it though," you suggested. Sarah nodded and you brough down the pink icing you didn't get to use for Sarah's birthday and a few candles. As the cake cooled down and Sarah iced it, you took your portable camera out and snapped a few pictures. "Moooom," Sarah groaned, trying to hide.

"Aw, come on, please?" you ask, "Just a few?"

Sarah sighed and let you take a few more and after a few minutes, the cake was done and decorated. Sarah used a bit of the gel we got at the store a few days earlier and wrote, "Happy Birthday Daddy," on the front.

The cake was in a container on the counter and all you had to do know was wait for Joel to come home so you could enjoy it with him.

And enjoy a few other things too...

It was about ten o'clock when you awoke to the sound of a door openeing, Joel was back home. You sat up, it was dark outside and you were exhausted. Rolling over to Joels side of the bed, you grabbed his pillow and inhaled his scent. Earthy, coffee, and leather, that's what you smelled, his scent was engraved in your mind. The door opened and Joel smiled, "hey, darlin'," he said, sitting down beside you as you scooted and sat up.

"Hey," you said, scooting closer to him, grabbing his hand and holding it.

"You're wearing it," you pointed out the ring you gave him this morning and he shrugged "had no where else for it," he joked. You rolled your eyes and shoved him playfully, "Is Sarah awake?" you asked, looking at the clock. Joel shook his head, "No, I took her to bed," he sighed, laying down. You laid down beside him and started kissing up his neck, going towards his jawline.

"What are you doin'?" he asked, a smirk laced in his voice.

"What? Can I not take care of the birthday boy?" you ask, straddling his waist and kissing him deeper.

He groaned into you and grasped your thighs rolling his crotch into yours. You noticed something on his right arm and looked closely at it "Where'd you get this?" you asked, the watch on his wrist secure.

"Sarah gave it to me," he said, kissing your neck.

"We have a cake downstairs that we made," you told him. He nodded, not really interested, "That's nice, now can you get back to kissing me?" he said, raising your shirt over your head, and audibly gasping at the sight of your bare chest. You giggled and before you could unzip his pants, his phone rang. You both groaned but he answered it.

"Hello?" He asked, irritated.

You could hear a frantic, female, voice on the phone. It was most likely Mrs. Cooper, one of your closets neighbors.

"O-Okay, Mrs. Cooper, I'll be there shortly," he hung up and threw his t-shirt that you discarded on the floor back over his body.

"What's wrong?" you asked, putting your own shirt on.

"Nothing," he sighed, "She said Jimmy don't look right and she needs my help getting him to the hospital."

"Um, okay," you said, following him out of your room.

"I'll be back, okay?" he said, giving you a kiss before heading out of the door.

You sighed and flopped on the couch, so much for spoiling him tonight.

Hours passed and still Joel hasn't come back, it was two in the morning and he hasn't answered any of your calls or texted you back. You thought about contacting your brother-in-law, Tommy, but thought against it. He would be fast asleep. To pass the time, you turned the news on, and gasped. Fires were blazing through out the city, people screaming and police, including the military, everywhere.

Your chest tightened, that was close by, Joel could be hurt.

You rushed up the stairs, grabbed your phone and dialed Joel's number, it went to voicemail, you tried again, voicemail, again, voicemail. You were audibly gasping for air, panicking.

"Mom?"

You whipped around and let out a sigh as Sarah walked in, rubbing her eyes.

"Hey, baby," you said, "do you know where your daddy is?"

She shook her head, "No, b-but I'm worried, I heard a-"

You shook your head and pulled her into a hug "I will not let anything hurt you, okay? You have nothing to be worried about."

"Promise?" Sarah asked, her voice breaking.

"Promise," you said, kissing her forehead. "

You both walked into Joel's office, and still, he was no where to be found. You were about to speak until the sliding door slammed opened and Joel ran inside, covered in blood.

"Joel!" you exclaimed, rushing towards him.

"Stay back!" he exclaimed, "Are you both okay? You hurt?"

You shook your head, "no, were okay," you said, making Sarah stand back as Joel grabbed his pistol and loading it with bullets.

"What's goin' on?" Sarah asked, fear in her voice.

"It's the Coopers, somethin' ain't right with em, I think...I think their sick."

"What kinda sick?" Sarah asked.

You and Sarah gasped as a figure banged into the sliding glass door, you pulled Sarah back behind you as Jimmy, or what was left of Jimmy, threw his body into the door.

"Dad?" Sarah asked, terrified.

"Honey, c'mere, c'mere," he demanded, shoving both and you Sarah behind him, one arm shielding you, one on the gun. The door shattered, and Jimmy was growling, and flailing his arm around, Joel walked towards the doors of his office, still shielding you and Sarah. "Jimmy, I am warning you!"

Jimmy threw himself at Joel and you held onto Sarah, as Joel shot him.

Sarah was hyperventilating and all you could do was hold her.

"Go, go!" Joel yelled, rushing the two of you out of the office. "You...you shot him," Sarah said, her voice quiet and shaky. Joel put his hands on her shoulder, "Listen to me, there is something bad going on, we have got to get outta here. Do you understand me?" Sarah nodded "Yeah."

Car lights illuminated the room and Joel grabbed Sarah's hand, leading her, with you following, out of the house. You kept following him but you wished he would stop so you could grab some stuff, like Sarah's baby album or your wedding pictures. You settled on grabbing a picture frame, Joel and baby Sarah the day she graduated from the NICU. You rushed out of the house and went into the back seat.

"Where were you?" Joel asked, from the front seat.

You pulled out the picture from and he sighed and shook his head.

You took the picture out of the frame, folded it, and put it in your pant pocket.

"Can we hear what's on the radio?" Sarah asked as Tommy drove out of the driveway. Tommy agreed but when he tried to turn it on, it was only static. "No phone, no radio, yeah, were doing great," he muttered.

Sarah settled in beside you and you held onto her.

"They say where to go?" Joel asked.

"They said uh..Army's puttin' up road blocks on the highway. Not gettin' into Travis County."

"Then we need to get out of here. Take 71."

Police cars, sirens and lights on, sped down the road when Tommy turned right.

"Did they say how many were dead?" Sarah asked, looking out of the window.

"Probably a lot. I saw this one family mangled up inside their home."

"Tommy," you snapped, glaring at him from the back seat.

"Right," Tommy muttered, "Sorry."

"How did this happen?" Joel asked, a car was slammed into a pole, "they got no idea," Tommy replied, "at first they were saying it was just the South. Now they're goin' about the East Coast, West Coast." Tommy passed a burning barn, you looked away, you couldn't bare thinking about whoever was in it. "Are we sick?" Sarah asked after a few moments. Joel turned around in his seat and glanced at you, "No, of course not." Sarah leaned into you, "How do you know?" she asked. "They uh.." Tommy began, "they said it was only people in the city, we're good."

"But...momma works in the city," she said, looking at you in fear.

"I'm okay," you reassured her, "I promise you I'm not sick."

She nodded and leaned back, seeming reassured.

A family was on the side of the road, a small child standing beside them, Tommy slowed down but Joel made him go on, not wanting to chance it. "Joel, they have a kid," you said, a little surprise that he would refuse to help them. "So do we," he snapped, "I ain't risking it." You passed the hospital you worked at and the highway was filled to the brim with other cars. A man got out of his car to yell at someone and one of those things came out of the woods and attacked him, another one climbing into his car to attack the people in it.

Strings of swears left both Tommy and Joel as Tommy pulled back and sped down the road and into the city where people were frantically trying to escape. Tommy slowed down as to not hit people while Joel was telling him to speed up. When he did get through, he drove down the city. Headlights were coming towards the truck and the next thing you knew, the car was flipped over on its side and a shard of glass was stuck in your thigh. You groaned, your head dizzy and frantically looked around for Sarah.

"Sarah?" you asked, your voice loud and frantic.

"Here!" she said.

You could see Joel getting out and one of those things attacking him. You gasped when your palms hit glass and your heart pounded as the thing got closer to his face. A bang was heard and the creature fell to the ground. Sarah got out first, she whimpered when her leg hit the ground and Joel helped you out, giving you a hug and noticing your thigh.

"It's nothing, I can still walk, you're gonna have to carry Sarah." Joel nodded and handed his pistol to Tommy, who took the rear as the four of you walked down the frantic city streets. People were screaming, buildings were on fire and your leg burned with every push.

"Daddy, I'm scared," you heard Sarah say. Your heart ached, you never wanted her to experience something like this.

A car exploded into a gas station and as you turned into another street, people and buildings were on fire. You could hear Sarah and Joel speaking but couldn't make out way their were saying. You all turned into an alleyway, but still the creatures were following you. You and the others made your way into a building and Tommy was holding the door closed, arms trying to get through.

"Get to the highway!" Tommy yelled.

"What?" Joel asked, determined not to leave his younger brother behind.

"Go! You got the girls!" Tommy demanded, not taking no for an answer.

"I will meet your there," Joel said, indicating for you to follow him and when you did, you could still see the infected following, you pushed up, making sure to run faster but still stay behind Joel, you couldn't let them get to her. As the three of you headed up the hill, gunshots sounded, the infected falling to the ground. A light blinded you, Joel and Sarah as you stopped beside him.

"It's okay, baby, we're safe," Joel told Sarah, "you okay?" he asked, you nodded "fine," you replied, your voice shaking, you were nauseous, and wanted to throw up but couldn't bring yourself to.

"Hey! We need help!" Joel begged, getting up and walking towards the solider.

"Stop!" the man ordered, pulling his weapon up.

"Okay...we're not sick," Joel began, taking a step back to seem less intimidating.

"Got a couple of civilians in the outer perimeter," the soldier said into his walkie-talkie, "please advise."

"Daddy what about Uncle Tommy?" Sarah asked.

"We're gonna get you and your momma to safety and go back for him, okay?" Tommy said.

"Sir, there's a little girl," you heard the solider say. You took a step back, not trusting his tone.

"But...yes, sir."

The soldier pulled his gun up and the light again blinded the three of you. Joel gasped and you got in front of them, the soldier blasted his weapon and the three of you fell down the hill, a bullet grazed your arm and you frantically searched for Sarah as the man walked over to you and Joel.

Before the soldier could shoot Joel, another gun flared and he fell to the ground. Tommy was standing, Joel's pistol raised.

"Oh, no..."

You turned to where he was looking and rushed, not caring about your thigh or arm and collapsing next to your daughter. Sarah's shirt was pooled with blood, she clutched your arm and Joel's as he came next to her open side.

Tears blurred your vision as you wiped Sarah’s tear-streaked face, her cries stabbing through your heart. You rocked her in your arms, whispering nonsense, anything to comfort her. Anything to take the pain away.

Joel tried to pull you away from Sarah, but you couldn’t—wouldn’t—let him. Your hands gripped her tighter, her soft sobs breaking you further.

Then her chest stopped raising, you looked, her eyes were open but they were hollow.

"Don't do this to us, baby," Joel begged.

You wailed as you realized what had happened, Joel held you close, his chest falling in soft sobs.

Your baby, your baby girl who you saw fight in the hospital, was gone just like that.

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corroded-hellfire · 18 hours ago

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Hiii!! I had an idea for the As You Wish Series, what if Eddie and R are invited to their daughters kindergarten/elementary talent show. And she’s supposedly singing, and she comes on stage and starts belting out Twist by Korn!

I wonder what their reactions would be!

+ (Your writing is really really good ☺️)

Thank you so much 🥺

Apparently there are arguments that there are real lyrics to this song or if it’s just scatting. The proposed lyrics would not be child appropriate so I went with scatting, containing phonetic spellings that I found on Reddit lol

Words: 1.2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Did she tell you what she’s going to sing?”

You take your seat in the hard plastic chair next to your husband. The cafeteria of Hawkins Elementary School is full of kindergarteners’ parents, milling about and having soft conversations as they await the talent show to begin. It’s a small room, and the stage is a single step up that might be able to hold one class at a time.

Both you and Eddie cleared your entire Friday to see your daughter perform and then take her out to lunch. Luke and Ryan grumbled about how they still have to go to school the whole day but your husband was quick to remind them that he did the same thing for each of them when they had their respective kindergarten talent shows. Wayne is back at the house, watching the twins for a few hours. The older man assured you he was able to handle the newly one-year-olds at the same time. Of course, you trust him, but that doesn’t mean you don’t miss your babies and hope everything is going well.

“She wouldn’t tell me,” Eddie answers you with a sigh. “I tried everything. Since when can Eliza not be bribed?”

You turn your head and cock an eyebrow at your husband.

“You tried to bribe our five-year-old?”

“Oh, don’t act like you’ve never done that.” Eddie’s cocky smile dares you to lie to him.

“What did you try to give her?” you ask, skirting around his response altogether.

Eddie heaves a deep sigh and drapes his arm along the back of your chair.

“Ice cream. Apparently, vanilla was a no-go, though.”

“Ah,” you muse, snuggling up to his side. “That was your mistake. She’s in her cookie dough period right now.”

Eddie lets out a soft groan and says softly so that only you can hear, “It’s going to be a princess song, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But she has an eclectic taste just like her parents.”

“She gets the good taste from me,” Eddie says.

“Sure, honey.”

A young woman in a gray argyle sweater and a calf-length cranberry skirt steps up on the stage and your attention turns towards her. The famed Ms. Berry you hear about almost every day after school smiles out at the audience and rubs her hands together before speaking.

“Hello! Welcome to our Hawkins Kindergarten Talent Show!” There’s a soft polite applause from the crowd before she continues. “First, we will start with my class. So, please welcome our first student from Ms. Berry’s class, Andy Arvano.”

The only downside of having a last name that starts with an “M” is always having to wait, being stuck in the middle of the pack alphabetically. The first eleven students perform a variety of “talents”: juggling, dancing, singing, jump rope, magic tricks, and even ventriloquism.

By the time it’s Eliza’s turn, Eddie’s about ready to fall asleep. But the moment he hears his little girl’s name announced, he’s wide awake and sitting up straight in his rigid seat.

The indigo curtain partitioning off the cramped backstage space is tugged to the side by a small hand with perfectly pink polished nails. Out pops your daughter’s beautiful face, her bright smile shining out at everyone as she steps out and makes her way to the middle of the stage, her magenta dress with white polka dots swaying with her movements. She looks down at her black Mary Jane shoes, before looking back up at the crowd. It’s impossible to keep a smile off your face as you watch her gently toss her head to make sure her ringlet curls fall just right against her cheeks. Without raising her hand higher than her waist, Eliza throws you and Eddie a quick wave. Giddily, the two of you wave back to her.

Eliza’s chest lifts as she takes a deep breath and you feel like you’re on the edge of your seat. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Eddie beaming as he looks up at her. You reach over and slip your hand into his. He gives yours a gentle squeeze in anticipation.

“Twist!”

The belted-out word takes you aback. Without music accompanying her, you’re initially confused as to what song she’s singing.

After the first word, Eliza begins to jump up and down on the spot, thrashing her head from side to side. Her curls whip around, smacking her in the face with every turn. Her motions don’t stop as she opens her mouth and continues.

“You not ooh rah dah en dahp ooh rah daht endaht en dik ah poo ra ta teek a poo rah doo rah do dik oh mumblio dah dah dosa pa errah sa dey definitely ha to think about pa errah so ma et it heh uh uh rah nada no ob rah da sa oh rak ah you ma heh to bro rah de de eh ah is ah ra ray nah hear aned darayeah woo who rah eh pay pa do rah not to errraah.”

The approximation of words, which could hardly be called scatting in this instance, clues you and Eddie into where she got her choice of song.

You hear Eddie let out an irritated sigh under his breath. He leans in and whispers in your ear the one word conclusion that you’ve also come to.

“Ryan.”

Silently, you nod. Your eyes don’t leave Eliza as her jumping becomes even more frantic and her arms start pumping up and down with the action.

“Twist!”

Someone a few rows behind you lets out a soft snicker and it breaks your own resolve as well. You smile, pressing your lips together to contain laughter as you watch your five-year-old shout out a Korn song. Eddie chuckles next to you as well and the two of you share an amused glance before looking back at the performance.

“ooh e ooh rah daht endaht endaht endaht ooh rah sadah eh mah rah day huh pah tay who uh mah nah who nah peek a boo nah eh na ooh rah eh essimple he neh head a nerah.”

Coming up on the final word, Eliza ceases her bouncing. She poses with her feet spread, her arms reaching out, resembling a starfish as she throws her head back.

“Twist!”

Her little chest is heaving as she finishes. Both you and Eddie immediately break into applause, the crowd around you doing the same. It’s by far the most entertaining performance of the afternoon.

The proud look that graces your daughter’s face at the clapping warms your heart. She grabs the sides of her skirt and tucks one leg behind the other, dropping into a curtsy. Once she stands back up, she searches for you and Eddie in the crowd. You immediately blow her kisses and Eddie waves at her. She giggles and gives a quick wave back before skipping off the stage.

After she’s out of sight, your laughter comes bubbling out. You tuck your face into Eddie’s neck and he slings his arm around you, chuckling himself.

“Oh boy,” he huffs with a laugh. “Well…it could’ve been a worse Korn song.”

You pick your head up and press a kiss to his cheek.

“At least it wasn’t a princess song, huh?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #older!eddie #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction #Eddie Munson fan fic #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS #request

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flos-obsessivus · 2 days ago

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Book of Fangs - The story of the fallen king

Word count: 2.9k

Warning: Blood, slight gore?, Unpolished writing, YANDERE!!!

A long long time ago, there was a young king admired by all, a king who goes by the name ‘Ivory’, yet his heart only yearned for one person er… person-like object? Originally a person cursed to become a sentient mirror which is now put inside the prince's chambers because he’s just creepy like that. Anyways, that king does not love easy, being born into a loveless family, affection rarely comes to him.

When he was just a prince, at the ripe age of 10, he was given a “friend” who, he was told, would always be loyal to him. At first, he didn’t use it, but day after day of speaking to fake people, he would find himself talking to it, even if the responses are short and curt. Though it was irritating at how blunt it was, he slowly started to appreciate the bluntness of the mirror overtime, as it cannot lie to him, the owner.

Nobody took him seriously, perhaps due to his age, or perhaps because of his cute face, so he always looked forward to their talks at the end of the day.

Overtime, he started to neglect his duties in favour of talking to the mirror.

“Mirror Mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all,” he would ask.

“You, my prince,” and the mirror would reply.

Everyday he would ask the same thing, and everytime his friend would reply the same. He grew up thinking that his mirror will always admire him and him only, this would go on until 4 years later when he got caught by his father neglecting his studies and duties.

Getting caught by his father, the old king ordered the servants to take the mirror away causing the prince to wail and scream. No matter how much the prince cried or begged, no servant would follow his word, for he is only an immature prince who has no power over the king. Eventually, he learned to not to rely on anyone but himself, opting to work harder to finally gain power and respect from people, of course it’s never enough, even with how much work he put in to be well respected, they still think of him as that cute naive child, invalidating him and his ideas.

Every night he is reminded of his mirror, how they believed him and respected him even as a child, how every silly thought of his is responded with a serious discussion and their rapt attention. Just thinking about them makes his heart flutter but also break, for he has abandoned them, left them alone without his presence, oh his mirror must have missed him just as he misses them. He never had a choice in their abandonment, if it was up to him he would have made sure to keep them by his side for all of eternity.

Of course, he would always ask both his parents if he could get them back every chance he gets, but it is always met with either refusal or a promise of giving them back when he does well on his studies. And of course, he would always comply and work hard, getting perfect scores every time but it’s never enough.

He has abandoned them, not by choice but because of his damned father. He thought that if he took his studies seriously his parents would give his mirror back, but they never did, they keep refusing whenever he asks again and again.

Everything came crashing down when one day he heard his father and a young hunter talk about the mirror, his mirror. The king expressed his disdain over the mirror but the hunter insisted that it should be kept unbroken due to its magical properties, however the king disregarded his concerns and demanded the hunter to destroy the mirror but the hunter never did.

Unbeknownst to the king and Ivory, the hunter was the one who took care of the mirror when it was confiscated from the prince, it being locked up in the castle dungeon to rot. But somehow, the hunter stumbled upon it when he was making the rounds around the dungeon, a sheet covering its shape but not hiding the soft glow that emits from it. It was not him who had spoken first but the mirror, a simple hello that started the lifelong friendship.

When it was time to destroy the mirror the hunter hesitated, his friendship with the person inside the mirror overwhelming his duties as a monster hunter. And so, the hunter had hidden the mirror inside a cabin deep inside the woods where the hunter had lived alone. In order to fool the king, the mirror suggested breaking part of its glass to give to the ruler as evidence of his work. It had fooled not only the king but also his wife and child, the latter becoming enraged at the ‘death’ of his beloved one.

Wrath consumed Ivory’s very soul, but he cannot act upon it, opting to stay quiet until the time comes where he can take his revenge without being suspected. For the next 5 years he has worked behind the scenes to ruin their reputation and stage an assassination that will not be traced back to him. He has used his beauty and charms to seduce and ensnare not only the nobles but also the common people. It all came to a head when he managed to bring the 7 great bloodlines to his side, and caused an uprising that ended in both his parents being executed and him being crowned king.

Of course, the pettiness in him cannot help but utter his beloved mirror’s name as he sees his father’s eyes widen in realization that all of this was because of that mirror, before being promptly executed via the guillotine, his own mother dying right after. After all of the pain and heartache, he would have thought he’d feel satisfaction or gratification, yet he felt… nothing. His heart had turned cold the moment that piece of glass was presented to his father. And that same piece has been with him the whole time, stealing it away before the hunter could take it back to the very much ‘alive’ mirror.

On the day of his coronation, the hunter approached him with a gift, as a promise of his loyalty to the crown. Ivory’s heart skipped a beat when he saw the very familiar shape of the mirror right in front of him, he whispers their name as tears roll down his cheeks, relief and love flooding through his body. The piece that was broken off has been fitted back, and the mirror fixed itself where it’s as if it was never broken in the first place. So finally after 9 years, they are reunited again.

However, this only made him realize how much he loathed to be apart from his mirror, how just being away from where his mirror is causes him to shiver and pick at his skin, becoming borderline erratic. Of course he doesn’t want to cause concern, so he would always retreat to the throne room where the mirror lays before he would have a panic attack in the middle of the day. Eventually developing a dependency on the mirror to keep him sane.

He always made sure that nobody would be able to steal the mirror away from him, every servant and knight had to adhere to the rule of being 20 feet away from the throne, ensuring that nobody would be able to get close to it. The more possessive the king becomes the more mirror yearns to talk to their old friend. Eventually the king asks a question he has never asked…

“Darling Mirror on the wall… have you fallen in love at all…?”

The mirror stays silent, unsure how to answer the question yet they know what is the truth. YOUR truth. You know that your answer is not what your owner wanted, but the truth wanted to come out, regardless whether it would please your owner or not. Ivory waited and waited until a breathy ‘yes…’ came out from your mouth, from the person behind the mirror, from the very being trapped inside the glass prison.

He was stunned. For 18 years he has heard the mirror’s voice, it was always curt, cold, lacked the emotion that he so desperately wished for whenever he talked to you, yet this time you spoke with so much adoration that he felt his breath hitch. He was giddy, have you finally fallen in love with him…?

He wanted to scream, shout, anything to celebrate this joyous day! Yet the next words that came out of your mouth was the biggest punch to the gut he will ever experience in his lifetime. You spoke of a name, a name that wasn’t his, but of the hunter that he trusted with his life. Ivory steeled himself to ask the same question he always asks, in order to stay in control and to find normalcy in this abnormal situation.

“Darling Mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all!”

Your gaze pierced through him as you spoke the hunter’s name with so much conviction, so much pride, and so much truth. In that very moment he knew that your heart belonged to another, but perhaps he still has a chance to steal it back. But he was so desperate to get a sliver of your affection that he couldn’t will himself to calm down, he could feel himself starting to lose it.

“Wh-why? Don’t you love me?? You’ve been so good to me since I was young!” He kneels before the mirror, clasping his hands into a prayer.

Their gaze turns into pity, saddened by the view of the great king begging.

The mirror does not reply, and Ivory takes it as rejection. He pleads and beg, demanding to know why the hunter and not him. Finally after minutes of him sobbing, the cursed mirror’s voice graces his ears once more, but this time it is not to comfort him, but to break him.

“You were so innocent back then, uncorrupted, and filled with pure love. But now… it’s almost like I don’t recognize you…”

“Back then…? So if I become who I was years ago, will you love me then? Yes… that’s right, I'll find a way to become younger! To be that adorable Ivory you loved so much! I-I promise you, I’ll become that innocent child again!”

With that, he rushes to find books, spells, potions, anything to make himself younger, leaving the mirror in the darkened room of the throne hall.

And so the king dedicated himself to researching a way to be young again, during this time the mirror was left alone in the throne room. Because the king had isolated himself in the library for research the hunter was able to sneak in and talk to the mirror, they talked about what had happened to their lives after the mirror was given back to Ivory. And out of concern, you told the hunter what had happened in regards to the king, about how erratic his behaviour has been and how possessive he became, oftentimes inflicting pain to those who get close to them.

The hunter cannot help but frown at the story, pitying you and wanting to take you away to safety, but of course, it would be seen as rebelling against the crown so he can only comfort you through this crisis. Before your friend could leave, you told him to take something from a compartment behind your glass prison, and that something was a bright red carnelian stone.

After weeks of isolation the king finally emerged from the library, finally finding a spell that could help him achieve his goal of becoming younger. It took him another week to prepare all of the materials and procedures needed for the spell, he only needed to do one more thing and the spell will finally be complete.

He called upon the heads of the 7 great bloodlines for a meeting, not knowing that this will be the last time they will be alive. As they filed into the throne room, you cannot help but stare at your friend whose head is pointed down, his quiet disposition raising alarm bells. He had also told the knights to leave the area once everyone was inside, odd, considering they are always supposed to be right outside the room. You opted to stay quiet when all of the nobles had finally sat down for the meeting.

A whisper rolls through the throne hall before all 7 people sit immobile in their seats, paralyzed through a spell uttered by Ivory, and so it started. Ivory did not even give an explanation to what was happening before he slit his own throat and collapsed. You stare in horror before you yell out for help, the nobles are no help as they are incapable of using their voice. Of course, nobody could hear you. But then to your surprise and horror, Ivory sat up from the bloody floor, throat still bleeding. You looked closer at him and saw his sharp fangs as he opened his mouth, before lunging at the nearest noble, puncturing her throat and drinking her blood.

By the time you realized what had happened, it was already too late, he was already on his 2nd meal. But you shouldn’t give up, you remembered one time where you accidentally woke up in a reflection that is not your mirror, so you tried your hardest to do it again. This time, you thought about the crystal you gave to the hunter and put your energy into appearing through it. You succeeded thankfully but everything was foggy, all you could see was red, it didn't matter though when you could finally hear your friend.

You urgently called out for him. Thankfully he responded quickly and you were able to summarize what is currently happening back at the throne room. He ran towards the castle as fast as he could. You on the other hand were thrown back to your mirror and found yourself facing the most gruesome scene in your lifetime. While you were away, Ivory has managed to sucked out 6 out 7 of the nobles and is now in the process of sucking the last one dry. They didn’t even have a chance to fight back.

Just moments after he finished his last meal, the doors burst open to reveal your friend and a whole group of monster hunters just behind him. You called out his name in relief and Ivory glared at him in disdain, angry at the fact that he was caught before he could bring you somewhere nobody could find you. As a newly created vampire, Ivory knows he is no match for the 20 or so monster hunters who are trained to kill since they were able to walk.

The head of the group moved first, with Ivory’s lack of experience in fighting, your friend easily stabbed him through the heart with his blade. Much to the horror of everyone, Ivory did not die, weakened, yes, but still alive. He’s even standing up with the sword pierced through his heart. Before anybody could move again, Ivory removed the sword and threw it away, quickly turning into a bat and flying through the open window where he escaped into the forest.

Your friend ran to follow him but it was already too late, Ivory was too deep into the forest to capture and it was too dangerous to go inside alone. In the end, he had to go back and assess the nobles' condition, unfortunately none of them survived. Due to the unfortunate event, the heirs of the nobles had to inherit the titles and had to appoint a new king right after. Every noble wanted to be crowned as the ruler of the kingdom but fortunately, one of the nobles chose the hunter as the new king. Given how logical it sounded, having the same person who drove away the vampire and was considered the best monster hunter to date, becoming the king, the other nobles agreed in the end.

And so the hunter, now king, ruled over the kingdom with a kind but firm fist, doing his duty not only as a king, but also as a monster hunter. He was the one who spread the teachings of the monster hunters to the royal knights, knowing how dangerous Ivory is he made sure that everyone is able to defend against the monsters in the forest. The mirror is right beside him, guiding him during his reign, becoming his adviser, and his son’s, adviser and his son’s son’s adviser.

For 3 generations, the mirror guided them, teaching them things that haven’t been taught to them by their predecessor. During that whole time, Ivory tried multiple times to attack and steal away the mirror but he never was successful, even with a full army he always manages to lose and is forced to run away everytime.

Now the mirror gazed upon the throne room as the new king raised his head, the crown glistening from the sunlight passing through the windows. The sound of cheers and yells can be heard from inside the room as well as outside as the celebration of a newly crowned king enveloped the whole kingdom.

I HAVE FINALLY CHOSEN TO POST THIS!!! This was supposed to be the official intro for Ivory and Severin but it was getting longer and I was slowly losing my mind so I basically scrapped it. But then I was like, fuck it, why not post it?

So here it is, its been some months since I wrote it so if there are some problems with the writing, well... Let's just appreciate that I actually wrote this.

Also if you notice the change from 3rd person, 'The mirror', to 2nd person 'You', that is intended :)

#yandere oc #yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x you #severin oc #ivory oc #male yandere

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pomefioredove · 1 day ago

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Hallo, can I order a sugar cookie number 7, with chocolate chips and chestnuts ^^

-chacha

trey fans come get ur dinnerrr

order #7, sugar with chocolate chips and chestnuts

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ would that help?

summary: you get sick while pretending to be trey's partner to his family. he wants to know why tropes: fake dating, sick fic characters: trey additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu

"You look awful. Now, eat,"

You respond to Trey with nothing but a glare. If you open your mouth for more than a second, he'll force another spoonful of broth in it.

He's been doing that all night.

"Come on. It's an old family recipe~" he says in sing-song, waving the silver spoon around.

You shake your head.

Trey sighs and slumps against the armchair he'd dragged over to the bedside some hours ago.

"Will you at least tell me what's wrong?"

Nothing.

"Are you mad at me?"

Nothing, still.

"Here," he says, dropping the spoon back into the bowl of (now cold) soup with a clink. "No soup. I promise. Everyone's really worried about you, Prefect."

Everyone. The word makes you shudder.

"Are you cold? I can ask my mom to turn on the heat,"

"I'm not- damn it," you break your vow of silence with a sigh, and you hide yourself under the blankets on Trey's bed. They smell like him, but warmer, not as flowery as he does at NRC. "Go away."

"Prefect, you're acting like a child,"

"I don't care,"

He nudges you through the blanket, as if you were some strange thing he found washed up on the beach.

"Hm. What would the others say if they could see their responsible, mature Prefect like this, hmm?"

You can hear the smirk in his voice. He's trying to coax you out of your cozy hideaway.

"To see you acting like a toddler... or, worse, like Grim. Oh, Ace would laugh. And the lecture that Riddle would give you... should I call him right now? He's only a few minutes away, I'm sure he'd hate to see you like this. I'm taking my phone out now-"

"Alright!" you say, throwing the blankets off. "Fine, okay?"

Trey bursts into laughter, nearly falling out of the armchair. "I can't believe that worked on you!"

You glare, and he rights himself, pushing up his glasses to wipe away his tears.

"I used that on my siblings when they wouldn't eat their vegetables. I'd say I was going to call the Queen herself... heh,"

"Not funny,"

"A little funny," he compromises, giving you another nudge. "Tell me what's wrong. You haven't left my room all day. My parents have been asking about you."

You sigh, the guilt prickling your skin like the quills of a hedgehog.

"I feel bad about lying,"

Trey blinks, his smile suddenly gone, and he leans back in the mishappen armchair.

"So... you've stressed yourself to the point of sickness because... you feel bad that we're lying to my parents about dating,"

"To everyone!" you exclaim. "Your parents, your siblings, your cousins, your customers- it... it's just not me."

He cradles his chin in his palm, looking towards the window. Whatever he's thinking, he doesn't share with you.

"I guess that makes sense. I keep forgetting you're not really a Night Raven College student,"

"Exactly," you mutter, hiding under the blankets again. It's quiet for a minute or two. Has he left?

The thought makes you feel even worse.

But then there's a nudge at your shoulder, and a flower from the vase on the nightstand in your face.

You blink. "What's this?"

"You said lying about us being together makes you feel bad," Trey says, nervously adjusting his glasses with his other hand.

"So date me."

"What?"

"Date me. It won't be a lie, then," he mutters, his cheeks a rosy red. "Would that... help?"

You sit up, letting the blankets fall at your waist, and you stare.

You take the flower, a beautiful white rose with no thorns, and, somehow, you find it within yourself to smile.

"It would help. Would that help you?"

It takes a moment for Trey to understand what you mean, but when he does, he smiles. "It... would help me. A lot,"

"Good," you sniffle, and he hands you a tissue, as white and delicate as the rose in your other hand.

"Now... could you... reheat that soup, please? I'm starving."

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #trey clover x reader #queued

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thewitchblue · 2 days ago

Text

"Jason. Who is that behind you?"

You asked in a warning tone as Jason crawled in through the window suspiciously. He said he had a surprise for you. Well, it sure did surprise you when a child followed him through the window (and promptly fell ungracefully). He brought home a kid from Crime Alley Bruce Wayne style.

Jason immediately was on the defence and pulled the child closer to him gently.

"You said you were having baby fever."

Your dense boyfriend looked so proud of himself that you didn't have the heart to deny him anything. His actions were sweet, but he could have just brought you to an orphanage or the park instead of kidnapping a child off the streets. Apparently, he didn't think about those as options. Instead, he figured he'd bring home a child to ease the baby fever. You would have liked for him to consult you first, but he knew you'd never take that step if he didn't metaphorically shove you to do it.

You sighed. He can't keep doing this. It was fine when he was kidnapping friends and family like Jon and Damian, but to bring a random child home was going too far. He was forming an uncontrollable habit. Where are the parents? Maybe it's best not to answer that question, but surely they have a guardian of some kind. You were exhausted already, as you said,

"You have to stop kidnapping people."

Jason didn't react. He simply picked up the kid and immediately handed them to you in hopes that you'll bond with them. You frowned at Jason but took the kid regardless as they were making grabby hands like a monkey wanting to change trees. He replied,

"No can do, mama bear."

You looked at the kid. They really were adorable and immediately cuddled themselves into your chest. Their bashful eyes seemed to plead with you to stay at least for the night. You were caving into the sweet doe eyes and timid smile staring at you with hope on their face. Your hold on the child tightened slightly as you asked,

"Will you stop kidnapping people if we keep this one?"

He hesitated long enough for you to know he had another kid following him. You groaned,

"You brought me twins?!"

Jason helped the little kid through the window with a sheepish smile. He couldn't help himself. He saw a pair of twins and needed to protect them. They looked like they were in terrible condition when he saved them from a trafficking ring. You groaned,

"Jason, we don't have the room for them!"

Jason, unfortunately for you, gave you pleading eyes that he knows you can't say no to. You narrowed your eyes at him. That's unfair, but it's helping him to win the fight. The kids were getting nervous, however, so you had to comfort them instead of argue further.

"It's okay, little ones. We're only figuring everything out to make sure you are taken care of."

The kids nodded, but they obviously still weren't happy to hear all this, so you let them go play with some plushies you have around the apartment.

"They can share a room until we get a bigger apartment."

He suggested. He really wanted to keep them. Your baby fever transferred to him. His longing for parenthood took over so hard he had to bring them home immediately. He didn't even listen to his comms when they tried to reach him. He brought the kids home as soon as he possibly could.

You caved. Fine. You can take care of two 4-year-old kids. Everything will be fine. You shook your head but finally conceded,

"I'll buy supplies in the morning."

Jason grinned and gave you a kiss. He wrapped his arm around you while you both watched the kids play together fondly. Mission success. New level: Parenthood.

"Hood. Report."

He heard in his ear. He grumbled, disgruntled at the interruption. He didn't bother designating a response to Oracle's demand. He's busy. He needs to settle the kids in and adopt them legally. The family is going to freak out when they find out, but it will be okay. He can fight off seven vigilantes when he tells them.

"No more children, got it?"

You sounded amused, but Jason knew you were serious. He wished he had more time with his twins, but you ushered him back outside with a small smile. He had vigilante work to do.

He didn't promise anything. He was content with two for now, but who knows? Maybe he really will turn into Bruce and have eight children collected through the years.

#fem!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #x reader

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tranquilitybasehotelcasino · 1 day ago

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first of all thank you! second of all i don’t think she’s intended to be biologically related to either of them but she sort of metaphorically is (sorry pic is squished)

the idea of passing down a mantle/responsibility as it pertains to superheroes is kind of societally paternalistic; it’s really obvious in the context of like, dick grayson’s time as batman, or wally west taking over as the flash. it’s sort of similar to the “dads naming their sons after themselves” thing, even when women do it (black canary, batgirl, etc), which happens less often anyway. in the case of gold beetle specifically the combination of two legacy mantles to create a new one is an obvious echo of the convergence of family lines to result in a new child, but even when it’s a 1:1 passing-down of a mantle, it’s clearly evocative of children inheriting both materials and responsibility from their parents. all men are brothers fathers and sons 👍🏻

gay chickening too close to the sun and ending up with a legacy daughter at what point do you just have to laugh

#i think the most recent blue beetle and booster gold are supposed to be her parents #but i doubt those two are biologically related to the originals. it seems to be a metaphorical family line #i could be way off though we never even got a canon last name for this girl #dc

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the-fyre-flie · 1 day ago

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17 year old Bruce Wayne becoming a teen dad for 8 year old Dick Grayson and struggling, another mini fic, technically a part 2? PART 1

"Please stop crying, kid... please... I don't know what you want if you just cry..."

Bruce had assumed that taking care of an 8 year old would be fairly easy. After all, it was after the diaper and fussy toddler years, almost at double digits, and when he was 8, Bruce was already pretty independent. But Dick... Dick was constantly upset. Crying, hiding, not wanting to interact with anyone. It was impossible to get him to leave his room or eat or even just talk to someone.

Standing in the doorway of the room, Bruce felt this horrible guilt feeling pooling in his stomach as he watched the child just cry on the bed. He didn't want to step closer, fearing he might scare Dick, but he also didn't want to leave, feeling responsible for the kid. Leaving felt like he was giving up. Giving up on the boy and his grief, giving up on the hope of getting better. And if he gave up, who else would be there to keep Dick from giving up, too?

"Dick, I really want to help. You have to let someone help you..." Bruce got out, taking a tentative step into the room. It was late morning, and Dick had refused to eat for the past 3 days since... since the accident. "Can Alfred make you something to eat? Anything to make you feel better. Your favorite food?"

He kept trying to offer food, clothes, gifts, anything. He had all the money in the world, but he knew better than anyone else that money doesn't fix grief. Standing at the foot of the bed, Bruce took in the sight of Dick crying into his palms, the boys face red and puffy, rubbed raw around his eyes and nose. When Dick moved to use the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away fresh tear, Bruce reached out and grabbed Dicks wrist, brow furrowing. Instinct told him to stop Dick from doing that again, that the kid was in pain from how raw his skin was. Shifting to kneel against the mattress, Bruce gently pulled a hankerchief from his pocket and dabbed at Dicks tears. It was almost fatherly... Bruce had memories of Alfred doing the same to him when he lost his parents.

"You're hurting yourself."

His voice was quiet, and Dick had stopped sobbing enough to stare at Bruce in disbelief. The quiet hiccups and sniffles echoed in the mostly empty bedroom, the lack of decorations making it feel almost sterile. They would have to decorate it, Bruce decided, make it look like an actual kids room.

"I know how this feels. You aren't alone, Richard. Please, let me help you."

It was a plea, a hushed beg for the boy to let Bruce do what he felt he had to. Alfred had stepped up to be Bruce's father, and Bruce wanted so badly to step up and be Dicks. To pay it forward. To protect someone who needed it.

It took about an hour to get Dick to leave his room, but eventually he was sat with Bruce at the dining room table, slowly eating the eggs and bacon Alfred had made. He had stopped crying for the most part, and let Bruce brush his hair and find him a change of clothes. And yet, Bruce didn't relax. He wasn't sure if he was doing any of this correctly. He wanted to he a good parental figure for Dick, but he also didn't want to overstep. What if the kid didn't want a replacement family? What if Dick always rejected him? What if he was making things worse for him?

"Mr Wayne..."

Dicks scratchy voice pulled Bruce from his thoughts, the man looking up like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't be.

"When am I going into foster care?"

Oh. That was the problem. Dick thought his placement here was only temporary. He thought Bruce would eventually get rid of him, and he had been worrying himself to tears thinking he would just get thrown to the foster system. That's why he had been in such a state for the past few days. That's why he had been so avoidant with Bruce. He was preparing himself for the feeling of being abandoned again.

"N-never. You don't have to go into foster care. The... the manor has a place for you always." Bruce spoke, trying to hide his sadness. Did Dick really think Bruce would just get rid of him after what happened?

"Are you certain?"

He sounded so weak. So defeated. He had just lost his mother and father, and he expected the world to tear away everything else too.

"I'm certain, Richard."

"Thank you, Mr Wayne."

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loopstagirl · 3 days ago

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Walk in the Park

For @febuwhump day 3: Pinned Down

Jeff paused and took a moment to look around. He smiled. It was a rare weekend where a) he wasn’t called into work, b) none of the boys had activities, c) none of the children were unwell, and d) the sun was shining. As soon as they’d seen the forecast that morning, both he and Lucy had known what they’d do today.

A picnic in the park, with all five of their boys.

It had been months since circumstances had let them do something like this. Between an unseasonably wet spring and various clubs, not to mention emergency meetings as Jeff’s fledgling business sprouted wings, there was always something on.

Now, though... Now, everything was perfect. They’d eaten with minimal squabbles over who got the last sausage roll and which flavour drink they wanted. Alan had started to get tired and Scott had declared he was taking his baby brother for a walk. Ten minutes later, a smug 13-year-old had returned with Alan asleep in the stroller. The toddler wouldn’t sleep for much longer, but it had stopped any meltdowns.

Virgil had seen some friends from school and run off to the play equipment with them. Thankfully, they’d picked a spot where both parents could see him without having to move. John was sprawled on the blanket, legs swinging in the air as he read, and Scott and Gordon were playing a version of catch the 5-year-old could keep up with.

Jeff caught Lucy’s eye. She was sitting next to John, leaning back on her palms, keeping an eye on Virgil but with a satisfied smile on her face. It only widened when she looked over at her husband. This was what their family was all about.

He grabbed a drink from the cooler, intending to sit next to her. All their children were entertaining themselves, which was a wonderful and rare experience. Before he could do so, however, a shout came from the playground. Jeff shielded his eyes with a hand as he looked that way, aware that Lucy had also straightened up.

He wasn’t sure what was happening to begin with. Perhaps a child had misjudged the monkey bars? There were plenty of parents milling around there. Then there was another shout – and it was a voice he recognised.

Lucy was already on her feet.

“Virgil.”

Jeff took a few steps closer, trying to see what was going on. Then he cursed under his breath, hoping that John didn’t hear him.

Some older boys, maybe Scott’s age, were trying to take over the playground. They were ignoring the little kids, but focused on the other boys there without their parents: Virgil and his friends. As Jeff watched, one of the older kids shoved a younger one, causing him to stumble into the other teenagers. They didn’t let him regain his balance though, pushing him again.

Lucy recognised the red tee before Jeff did. She took off, not quite a run, but a fast, angry walk that would get her there quicker than if Jeff sprinted. He took a step, then glanced at his remaining children. Scott was responsible, but he couldn’t leave him with John, Gordon and Alan. Still, he stayed on his feet, a few steps towards the playground, watching.

“Dad? Where’s Mom-,” Scott trailed off, standing next to him. He too squinted in the direction of the playground, just as Virgil hit the ground. “Virgil!”

Jeff only had time to grab Scott’s arm as the boy made to hurtle off.

“Your mom has got this, Scott.”

“That’s Tommy Higgins and his friends,” Scott snarled. “I warned them if they ever went near my brothers again...” His gaze flickered to John before back to the playground, and Jeff knew there was an untold story there for sure.

Scott tried to pull out of his dad’s hold and Jeff found himself tightening his grip to hold the boy back.

“I need you here, Flyboy.”

“No! I told him! If he dares-,”

“Your mom is almost there, Scotty. Virgil is okay.”

Indeed, the boy was getting back up. Lucy was almost at the gate now and Jeff knew the older teens were going to be fools if they tried anything now.

“Where’s Mama?” Gordon asked, appearing out of nowhere.

“She’s gone to help your brother.”

“I can help too!” Gordon looked as if he was all set to go dashing after Lucy.

“John? A hand, please?”

John looked up from his book and caught Gordon round the middle, pulling the suddenly-giggling child down to the blanket with him.

“Scott, calm down.”

“I’m not calming down! I told him he’d get what was coming to him if he ever went near them again.”

“Scott!”

Jeff couldn’t hold him. He wasn’t sure when Scott had suddenly sprouted but his little boy wasn’t so little anymore. In the type of move he hadn’t used since his Air Force days, he hooked his arms under Scott’s shoulders, pulling the boy back into him. Scott struggled, but even his new-found height was no match for this grip.

“Calm down,” Jeff said in his ear. “I know you’re upset; I know you’re mad. But your mom is handling it. It won’t help Virgil, or any of your brothers, if they see you answer violence with violence.”

Indeed, Jeff wasn’t entirely sure where this had come from. Scott had always been protective, but it appeared that all the emotions that came with being a young teenager meant he was trying to find a different outlet for those emotions. Jeff loved Scott’s protective nature, but he couldn’t let this continue.

Scott snarled. One day, that was going to be an impressive sound. But his voice hadn’t yet broken and it didn’t have the depth to it to be truly chilling. Jeff winced as a foot collided with his shin. While he didn’t necessarily remember being 13, he did remember being a teenager and the feeling that the world was out to get him.

He walked back a few steps, dragging Scott with him so that he was further away from his brothers. Carefully, he shifted their centre of gravity until he could drop to his knees, pulling Scott down with him. Then it was just a case of extending his legs, unhooking his arms and wrapping his son in a bear hug, keeping Scott’s arms trapped within his own.

“You need to calm down,” Jeff said in his ear. Scott twisted in the hold but his father’s grip was too strong.

“I have to help Virgil.”

“This is not the way, and you know it. You’ll only get yourself into trouble and either you or your brother could be hurt if you react like this. Is this what you want?”

Scott, mercifully, stopped struggling. He was still tense though and Jeff didn’t dare relax his grip.

“What about Gordon? Do you think this is any example to set your younger brother?”

He didn’t need to worry about John. He hadn’t copied Scott the way the others did for a while now and had his own way of handling things. Jeff knew his second born had a bad habit of trying to be invisible when the attention was on him, but he had an acid tongue if anyone tried to pick on his brothers – whether that was another child or a grownup. Jeff had been forced to apologise while trying not to laugh more than once.

“He’ll know that I’ll always defend him.”

“By getting into trouble yourself? That’s making the situation worse, and you know it.”

Jeff dared risk a glance at the playground. Lucy was heading back their way, their 8-year-old clutching her hand. Jeff couldn’t read Virgil’s expression from this distance, but he was walking fine, so at least he wasn’t physically hurt.

“Let me go!”

“Not a chance, kiddo.”

Jeff knew that Scott was fighting the hold, but he could barely feel his boy’s struggles as he held him down. It was only when Lucy came closer and they could see for themselves that although there were tear tracks down Virgil’s face, he’d already stopped crying and was smiling at something his mother had just said.

Jeff sighed in relief. Then Scott went limp. The father suddenly wondered how much Scott had been feeding off his own tension and grimaced. He could keep calm in a business meeting but apparently not so much when it came to someone hurting his children.

“Everything okay?” He called. He relaxed his grip but didn’t dare let Scott go. Not just yet.

“All handled,” Lucy said. She had a hand on Virgil’s shoulder but ruffled his hair and nudged him towards his brothers. Virgil didn’t hesitate, dropping down beside John and instantly finding himself with Gordon climbing on him.

“Get off,” he muttered, but he didn’t push Gordon away like he usually did and there was no conviction in his voice.

“I was gonna save you,” Gordon told him, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

“I didn’t need saving. Especially not from you.” Virgil wasn’t meeting Gordon’s eye.

“There’s nothing wrong with a helping hand,” Lucy told him, also sitting down. “Even if it comes in squid-form.” She seized Gordon round the middle and pulled him onto her lap, tickling him. Gordon laughed.

“Johnny, help!”

John – for once – joined in without hesitation. After a second, Virgil also piled in and Lucy disappeared under three laughing boys.

“You okay?” Jeff murmured in Scott’s ear. He softened his grip until he was hugging his boy. Scott didn’t let that happen very often these days and Jeff missed it.

He heard Scott swallow before the boy nodded. “Yeah.”

Gently, Jeff let go until Scott could sit up. His son looked at him, and it was a mixture of the man he’d one day be and the little boy he was trying so hard not to be.

“They know you’ll protect them,” Jeff said quietly. “But there’s a right and a wrong way of doing it. You understand that, right?”

Scott couldn’t meet his eyes but he nodded again. Jeff clapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t get me wrong, Scotty, I’m proud of you for wanting to look out for them. But no getting into fights, or you’ll be the one in trouble.”

“Copy that,” Scott said. Jeff properly relaxed at hearing the words.

“Now, go on, I think your mom needs you right now,” he said. He nudged Scott towards the pile that was his wife and three kids. Scott didn’t need telling twice and charged over, scooping a surprised and delighted Gordon into the air just as Alan woke up.

Jeff fetched his youngest, keeping the blanket wrapped around him as he balanced the 18-month-old in his arms. Alan’s eyes were wide as he watched the laughing pile of siblings.

“Maniacs,” Jeff told him. “The lot of them.”

Alan’s answer giggle told him the smallest Tracy both agreed and approved.

#febuwhump #febuwhump2025 #febuwhumpday3 #pinned down #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #jeff tracy #scott tracy

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maochira · 22 hours ago

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Change of plans. [chapter 4]

previous chapter

synopsis: Without being given enough time to think about your situation, Corazon takes you and Law on an unexpected journey.

tags: gn!child!reader & Corazon & Law, a bit of hurt/comfort, little angry Law

Nothing went as planned. Not at all.

Shortly after Corazon’s call with Sengoku he overheard Law talking to Baby 5 and Buffalo. One thing led to the other; with Law revealing he carries the name of the D. and having just learned about your past, Corazon made the decision to escape the Donquixote pirates with you and Law. The chaos of the pirate ship being attacked by a navy ship was just the perfect opportunity to get away.

“Where is (Y/N)?!” Doflamingo yells across the ship.

“Corazon and Law have disappeared as well!” Diamante adds just seconds later.

While majority of the crew is busy defending their ship against the navy and sailing away, Senor Pink makes a discovery. “Young master! I found this in Corazon’s hammock.”

He approaches Doflamingo with a letter, which the latter quickly grabs to read its contents. Eyes narrowing, gritted teeth and a heartbeat quickening from anger, Doflamingo balls his fists. “What does he think he’s doing?!”

Went to cure Law’s disease. Finding (Y/N)’s parents.

That’s what Corazon had written on the scrap of paper. The first part the truth, the second a lie. Still unsure on what exactly he’ll do with you, but determined to figure it out at least by the time Law’s disease is cured. Idealistically, Corazon would love to change your identities and move onto an island near Marine Headquarters, where he’d raise you and Law. Not necessarily into future members, but at least to give you a better upbringing.

“Answer that transponder snail!” Law yells at Corazon, who’s calmly leaning back with a book on his lap. “I bet it’s Doflamingo calling! Answer! I want to go back on the ship!”

Corazon doesn’t bother to reply or even acknowledge Law in the slightest. This angers the boy so much more, but due to being restrained by a rope there was nothing he could to besides yelling.

The transponder snail goes silent, but Law doesn’t. He turns his gaze to you, irritated by your lack of reaction to the absurdity of the situation. “Why can’t you at least open your mouth now?!”

The shrug you give in response doesn’t help to calm Law’s nerves.

Corazon goes on to have a call with Sengoku, explaining that he’ll leave his duty for a bit, for a “personal matter”.

“Who were you calling just now?!” Law raises his voice the second Corazon puts the speaker aside. “You said something about duty! Are you part of the navy?! Everyone involved with the World Government makes me sick!”

Corazon sighs and places a cigarette between his lips. “I’m not a navy man!” He stands up and gets closer to Law. With a huff, the tall man kneels down to make better eye contact with the boy. “I’m going to find a doctor who can cure your disease, and then we’ll find a place where you and (Y/N) can live in peace.”

“White Lead Disease can’t be cured, you idiot! Bring me back to Doflamingo’s ship!” With his face red from anger, Law continues struggling in hope to free himself from the ropes, but with no success.

Having head enough of Law’s tantrum, Corazon uses his Devil Fruit powers to silence him. As soon as that’s done he turns his attention to you, now speaking much softer. “You can trust me. I know this is all out of a sudden, but I promise I only want the best for you.”

“I want to go back. To family.” Your words almost break Corazon’s heart. A part of him regrets having brought you onto that ship in the first place, immediately followed by the guilt for even thinking leaving you to death would be the better option.

“Law and I are with you, we’re still your family.” Corazon attempts to reassure you. Seeing that you are calm, he releases you from your restraints lifts you onto his lap. He continues speaking to you, this time in a whisper. “I don’t like the idea of the life you’d have on that pirate ship, let me give you a better one."

#💟 maochira writes #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #corazon x reader #donquixote rosinante x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law #trafalgar d water law

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foundnthestars · 2 days ago

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HI. I bring Questions. >:]

How long are Dipper and Stan in the portal for? I remember you saying it somewhere a while ago but I can't remember

Does Mabel ever get sent back home? (Home being Piedmont)

Tell me more abt Ford. Just. Anything about him. How does he come to terms with the fact his identity was stolen for 30 years? And that he can't even ask Stan about it? Does he ever learn about the kids interactions with Bill? How does he feel about the new entries in his journal? Just. Tell me abt Ford.

Are there any characters you haven't introduced yet who will be important later on, canon characters or otherwise?

HI! THANK YOU FOR THESE QUESTIONS COPPER!! i was out of town so i wasn't able to answer these until now but i've literally been thinking about them all weekend!!

I. this is a question i've given a lot of thought, and i think i've settled with a date i'm pretty satisfied with! i think stan and dipper would be in the multiverse a MUCH shorter time than mabel and ford would be in your traditional drifting stars au. that would mainly be because ford knows where to get materials faster than stan or dipper would in the same scenario — i.e. crash site omega. but it'd still take a while because ford will have to figure out a way to pinpoint their exact location in the multiverse rather than just rebuilding the portal as according to its original design.

so, they'll be coming back right around early summer/mid summer 2014. right before mabel and dipper's sophomore year of high school. mabel would have gone through the 8th grade and freshman year without dipper :( so about 2 years overall — just in time for the twins' 15th birthday!

i have so many headcanons about the twins' high school experience post-portal. sheesh. so much angst potential. but dipper would have to get up to speed in time to enroll in school with mabel, and ford would definitely spend a lot of time tutoring dipper to get him ready for 10th grade. (no better person to teach a triangle-averse, traumatized teen trigonometry than a triangle-averse, traumatized old man!! yay for trauma-informed mathematics!)

II. THIS. THIS. THIS. The Parents. They Haunt Me.

i'm a sucker for realism in fics (i mean y'all know how i obsessed over the capacity of stan's hearing aid batteries for weeks and couldn't let it go) so working out the twins' parents' role in this was definitely a struggle. it needed to be realistic while also allowing very vital plot points to happen. like mabel staying in gravity falls, for one thing.

so many drifting stars fics don't really talk about the parents, and trust me, i get it! it's hard to write and enjoy ford and mabel bonding when you have two devastated, grieving, hysterical, protective parents trying to yank one party back to boring old piedmont where nothing ever happens and plot goes to die. but i also didn't want their parents to wind up being two shallow, underdeveloped background characters who couldn't care less about where their sole child ended up.

in my opinion, no reasonable, sane parent would let their daughter stay with an adult who was the sole party responsible when their son went missing. i also couldn't really see two grown adults from some random californian suburb suddenly becoming okay with the idea that their son went through an interdimensional portal, no less still letting their daughter stay there after hearing about it.

the only way i could see a parent letting this happen was if they decided somehow that staying home was somehow worse than all possible risks. sure, great uncle stanford let dipper go missing right under his nose, but at least he's apologetic about it. that 70-something year-old man is running around the woods at night looking for their son (apparently). that lumberjack girl is crying at the mention of him while swearing up and down that she'll protect their daughter with her life. there's a 20 year old kid who keeps shoving photos of their son and daughter on some fishing trip in their face and bringing homemade baked goods and dishes his abuelita made for them to take home with them.

and what's waiting for mabel in piedmont? nothing good. nothing resembling a healthy family environment. it's apparently bad enough that their normally spritely, energetic, kind, allergic-to-lying daughter is running away from home in the middle of the night. the pines parents are Not Okay, and they know mabel won't be okay with them either right now. there's a messy divorce and an alcohol problem sneakily brewing and until they can get their shit sorted out they'll have to trust ford to take after mabel for a while.

that's the focus of the next chapter! and it's coming real soon! a lot more will be delved into (it won't be as clear cut as them just shipping her away to gravity falls for 2 years) but mabel's here to stay! [TTDR: Nope!]

III. ahhh ford. i can tell you many things about ford.

mabel is just constantly, always talking about stan. what shows he watches. what color he begrudgingly admitted he liked best when they were finally able to take off his bandages after the Color Incident. the way he takes his coffee in the morning. it doesn't matter what. she just Keeps. On. Sharing. ford has no idea what to make of it at first. stan sacrificed the entire universe and put his own niece and nephew at risk and stole his identity and entire life. how is he supposed to forgive him for that? (he secretly wants to know more and never, ever interrupts mabel when she starts talking about him. blue's his favorite, too. the color of the sea.)

ford gets really freakishly good at acting like stan. he hates doing it but he knows he has to if he wants to keep their story going. when he has to make trips into town, he puts up with people asking him about the shack and dipper and why he's passed the mr. mystery torch over to soos. even though he hates that his identity has been entirely stripped from him, he has to admit that it's nice to be liked by so many strangers. his view of stan gets pretty warped because of this. he has to reconcile a lot with the stan he thinks knows (a.k.a his anger) and who he really is to those around him.

mabel is entirely responsible for making ford the soft, family man he was always destined to be. that will play a HUGE role in his and stan's reconciliation and the way he'll treat him when they come back :) (there will be no punching or arguing, thank you very much)

he learns about bill and the kids in the next chapter. he feels many things. none of them good. i'll let you guys read that for yourselves. i loveee when fics touch on ford's reaction to dipper's possession and bill's interactions with them, and ford will NOT be pleased to hear about any of this or bill's recent rendezvous in mabel's dreamscape

when he reads the entries in the journal, there's far less of the "i can't believe this kid scribbled over my life's work" than there was in canon. mainly because ford is deeply, palpably guilty that dipper got pulled into the portal HE created. here's a child that revered him and ended up losing a huge chunk of his adolescence because of it. he can't pin the blame on stan forever. not when he reads dipper's entries and sees the potential in a life that might be lost to bill or to the harsh realities of the multiverse. (he spends nights reading them and imagining what could have been if things didn't go so horribly wrong).

IV. yes! more important characters on the way. pacifica is the only one of them who is actually included in tags for now :) take from that what you will and for what that says for the future, hehe. super excited to introduce her and to write her dialogue !

there are also some other canon characters who are not tagged yet, because it'd be too big of a spoiler, but are MAJOR to the plot. super excited for those chapters!!

as for OCs, they are vital for plot progression and world building for a fic of this nature but they will never overshadow canon characters or be inserted in any major way. just a bit of fun world building coming for those guys!! i had a lot of fun writing acksyien for that short bit so expect more wacky side characters for dip and stan to meet!

#gravity falls #reverse drifting stars au #the things we lost #mabel pines #dipper pines #stan pines #ford pines #answering asks #I HATE THAT I MADE YOU WAIT SO LONG FOR THIS #also new chapter this week likely!!#guys the headcanons are running wild #but they're centered around a plot point we haven't hit yet and i'm losing my mind #THANK U ALWAYS <3 you're the best

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